


A Life Imagined

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An itinerant anthropologist and a hardnosed businessman struggle with the direction of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Imagined

## A Life Imagined

by J.C.

Author's website:  <http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci/jcmain.html>

The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's all I have to say.

I got this idea about Jim and Blair following more closely in their parents' footsteps a long time ago, jotting down notes and snatches of plot/conversation now and again. Over the years, I've probably picked it up dozens of times and put it back again, but recently while cleaning up, I ran across it and decided to at least get out the opening scene, and when the boys decided to get talkative, it provided a needed distraction for me during some recent RL stress. So, here it is.

* * *

A Life Imagined by J.C. 

Somehow, Blair could sense change in the air, and it had nothing to do with the climate shifting as he traveled further north. For the last sixty miles or so, he had seriously considered turning around and heading anywhere other than Cascade, Washington. There was something about that city; he was always drawn back there, no matter how far he went or how much time he spent away. Since the age of sixteen, when he'd first shown up to go to the university, the place had spoken to him, not so strongly that he had ever been compelled to stay and settle down, but still, insistently enough that he had never been able to totally ignore it, either. 

He was on his way back again, after debating for the umpteenth time the possibility of going for his doctorate, and finally setting up an appointment with his old mentor, Dr. Eli Stoddard. Strangely enough, a letter from his mother had caught up to him, saying that _she_ was in Cascade, living with someone that she had met while in Europe, and after contacting her, she had extended an invitation to stay with 'us' whenever he got there. 

Blair's stomach did a little roll when he passed the sign reading, 'Welcome to Cascade, Be safe--Buckle up'. From excitement or fear, he didn't know. But, he was fairly sure of one thing--if his mother had plans to reside in Cascade for the foreseeable future, then he would be more likely not to hang around himself. He loved his mother very much, but he didn't think it was best for them to stay in the same place for any extended period of time. She had a way of complicating his life without even really trying. Oddly, he felt relieved that maybe this wouldn't be the time that the strange lure of the cold, rainy city of Cascade would make him give up his wandering ways. 

Winning an old Harley in a poker game months earlier had provided a welcome opportunity for him to hit the road again, and he had been riding across country ever since. It had taken until he'd made his way to Colorado for him to acknowledge that he was actually headed somewhere, that the arguments he had been constructing in his head to convince Eli of just why a thesis relating to Sentinels was a good idea hadn't just been mental exercises. Still, it took him another meandering three hundred miles to finally call Eli to set up a meeting. He had no doubts that he could get Eli to take him seriously. Despite his lack of endorsed academic accomplishments of late, he'd stack his field experience up against most sponsored expeditions any day of the week. Plus, he had numerous papers to his credit on a wide range of anthropological subjects based on data culled from his travels the world over. 

Most importantly to him was the Sentinel research that he had amassed. He had always taken every chance to explore the tribal watchman phenomenon with any culture with which he came into contact. Hell, he'd had a hard-on for the idea of sensory enhanced warriors for as long as he could remember, but despite all of that, to his disappointment, he had never encountered a modern version. 

Slowing down, Blair pulled over to the side of the highway and took a swig of water from the bottle he had strapped to his bike, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, he pulled out a scrap of paper, checking out the scribbled address one more time. 'As if it's gonna change, Sandburg,' he thought, taking a few deep breaths before speeding off again. He had spent enough time in Cascade to know who the movers and shakers were, and it blew his mind that his mother had hooked up with _the_ William Ellison. Gunning his engine, he turned, heading towards the North Hills section of the city. 

* * *

Rumbling up the driveway, Blair couldn't help letting out a low whistle, impressed despite himself at the imposing and elegant residence. To his knowledge, his mother had never had much time for rich men, except maybe once when he'd been very young, before they had started moving around a lot, and they had stayed in a place with enough room for a little boy to play, and he'd gotten really great gifts. But this... Blair took off his helmet, shaking out his hair and stretching his neck, having a hard time picturing Naomi living on Lakeland Drive. 

Leaving his motorcycle parked on the circular drive, he went up the stairs leading to the front door and rang the bell. He was half expecting an old British gentleman to answer, but instead a short, Oriental woman opened the door. A quick glimpse of the spacious marble foyer inside made him somewhat self-conscious of his grubby, travel-worn appearance, and he silently cursed the fact that so often he found himself in awkward situations where his mother was concerned. 

"Yes?" 

"Um...hi. I'm here to see my mother...uh, Naomi Sandburg." 

"Oh! Yes, you must be Blair. Come on in. We didn't expect you until Thursday." 

"Yeah, I made better time than I thought. Um...is my mother around?" 

"I'll handle this, Sally." 

Blair looked to his left, turning to the sound of the deep voice, and was met by a pair of stark, blue eyes. The expression in them made him even more aware of how his leather jacket and torn jeans, dusty boots and wild hair made him appear. For a minute, he longed to be back in Kenya with the Mombatu tribe. 

"Very well, Jimmy. I'll go get some refreshments." 

"Thanks," Blair called out to her retreating form, dropping his heavy duffel bag to the floor, ignoring the look that got him. Refusing to be intimidated, he eyed the tall, unsmiling stranger. "So, uh, you the butler?" he asked, boldly looking the man up and down, noting the tailored suit and polished shoes. 

Seemingly unfazed, the man answered, "I'm Ellison. _James_ Ellison." 

"Oh, so you're the number one son." 

"Just what I was thinking." 

"Huh?" 

"That you're the son. The 'Blair' that Naomi goes on about." 

A little embarrassed, never knowing what Naomi might have said, Blair stammered out a response. "Yeah, look, um, is she here or not?" 

"Not. She's out with my father. You can leave a message for her with Sally." 

"No thanks. I'll wait. She said I could crash here for a while." 

"Is that right?" 

"Hey," Blair said, starting to lose his temper, "you have a problem with me staying in your house, man?" 

Ellison gave an indifferent shrug. "Knock yourself out. I don't live here." 

"In that case, why don't--" Sally's arrival interrupted what he had been about to say, and he turned his attention to her. "Is there someplace that I can clean up?" he asked when she offered him a glass of iced tea from a tray she held. 

"Oh, of course. Jimmy, why don't you show Blair upstairs? We're putting him in the green bedroom." 

"Yeah, _Jimmy_ ," Blair began with a mischievous grin, unable to resist, but was startled into speechlessness at Ellison's frosty gaze. Covering his discomfiture, he got up to retrieve his bag, only to drop it again. "Um, maybe I should move my bike, first." 

"Bike?" 

Blair looked over to see Ellison blinking at him. "My...uh...motorcycle," he said, struggling to collect himself. "I left it in the driveway." 

Ellison walked past him to look out the large windows at the front of the house. "Where'd you get that?" 

Frowning a little, Blair replied, "I won it in a poker game." 

"You won a Harley Davidson Road King Touring bike playing cards." It wasn't a question, but the disbelief came though very clearly. 

"Yep," Blair said, choosing not to elaborate. 

Ellison stared at him for a few seconds and then made a derisive snort. "Figures. Drive around the back. You can park her by the garage." 

Blair opened the door, biting back the smart comment that popped into his head, then took a calming breath, deciding for his mother's sake to play nice. He turned back around, intending to say 'thanks', but, unexpectedly, found himself alone. 

* * *

Following the sounds of voices, Blair absently rubbed his palms on his denim-clad thighs. He had put on a clean pair of jeans, miraculously hole-free, and his favorite flannel shirt that had thankfully not been all that wrinkled when he pulled it out of his bag. At first, he had tamed his hair back into a ponytail, but at the last minute he had loosened it from its tie, letting it fall casually back to his shoulders, determined not to let a certain someone make him feel any more uncomfortable while he was there. 

Turning a corner, he found himself in the doorway to a large, bookshelf-lined room. His mother was inside, looking bright and fresh as always, with an older man he recognized from newspaper photographs years he'd seen years earlier as William Ellison himself. And, of course, seeming to be lurking in the background was the man that he absolutely had _not_ cleaned up for, James Ellison. 

"Sweetie!" Naomi practically squealed as soon as she caught sight of her son. "Oh my, look at you!" She dashed across the room, enveloping him in a big hug, then pulled back, fingering the ends of his hair. "You've cut your hair, but you look great." Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she turned around. "Jim!" she scolded, "why didn't you tell me my baby was here?" 

Not waiting for the mumbled reply of 'must have slipped my mind', she hugged Blair again, who glared over his mother's shoulder, only to find Jim smirking. 

"William, this is my son, Blair." As Blair and William shook hands, she went on, "I've told him all about you, sweetie. Come on, sit down." She led him by the arm to a nearby loveseat, fussing over him with her hands as if she couldn't get over him actually being there with her. "Tell us all about your trip." 

"Well, actually, if you'll excuse us--Dad, I need to discuss the Harkins, Limited merger." 

"Can't it wait, Jimmy?" 

"It could, but I'd prefer to go over it with you now. Tobias Harkins is making noises about his terms, and when I talked to Stephen--" 

"Fine, fine. You two carry on. We'll be in my office." 

"Don't work too hard, William. We're going to have a special dinner tonight." 

"What's with that guy, anyway?" Blair asked when he and his mother were alone. 

"Hmm? Who? Oh, Jim? Don't mind him. He's cranky a lot, but he's like his father used to be--he works too hard. He's still a good man, he just needs the right person to help him bring out the full potential that I can feel he has inside." 

"Whatever," Blair snorted. 

"Trust me, I know these things. He's very, very good-looking, too, don't you think?" 

"Mom!" 

"It's not a secret that you like both men and women, Blair. It would be perfectly normal for you to have noticed." 

"Do you want to hear about my trip or not?" 

"I don't think you've been meditating enough, dear. You seem to have a lot of negativity around you. But, come on, tell me in the kitchen. I have all your favorites, and I promised Sally that I'd show her how to make tongue just the way you like it." 

"Tongue?" Blair asked, perking up. "That's the magic word." He got up to follow his mother, and forced himself to put everything else out of his mind. 

* * *

"Sandra, will you get Ms. Plummer on the line, please. And, can you double check that my brother got those reports this morning?" 

"Yes, Mr. Ellison." 

Jim sat back in his chair, waiting for the intercom to sound. He had work to do, but as much as he didn't feel like doing it, he dreaded going home alone or to another function with Carolyn even more. And he absolutely refused, for reasons he didn't want to explore, to go for another dinner at his father's house. 

"Mr. Ellison? Ms. Plummer on the first line. And, Tracy said that Mr. Ellison got the Harkins reports before lunch. I'm about to go home. Do you need anything else before I leave?" 

"No, see you tomorrow." 

"Good night, Mr. Ellison. You shouldn't stay too long, either." 

"Price of being the boss," Jim said before clicking over to his phone call. "Carolyn, I'm really swamped here. I'm not going to be able to make it tonight. We have this merger about to go through--" 

"Spare me, James. That's the third time this month. You even stood me up for dinner with my parents last week. How are we supposed to set a date for the wedding if you won't even keep a date for dinner?" 

Though he was tempted to say, 'Why bother', Jim bit his tongue. There were a number of reasons that he was marrying Carolyn, and he had too much at stake to back out now. "Just let me get through this Harkins deal, and I'll cook you dinner at my house this weekend, okay?" 

"Okay. And you better not cancel. I mean it, James. Three years is long enough to be engaged. You don't want people to start talking, do you?" 

No one else would have picked up on the implied threat, but Jim understood immediately. "Saturday. Eight o'clock. Talk to you later," he said, hanging up without waiting for her to reply. 

'One slip,' he thought, 'and Carolyn gets to make my life hell forever.' Still, he had put the marriage off as long as he could. They didn't pretend to love each other, but an Ellison was a good catch for Carolyn, and he could do worse than an attractive corporate attorney. His brother, Stephen, was already married, had the standard two kids. As the oldest, Jim knew attention was on him, his life, his work, especially from his father. It had never been easy being William Ellison's son. Much harder being the first born. But, in the end, he always ended up doing what was expected. He'd taken one chance at going his own way, going off to join the army, but after his minimum time had been up, he had given in to the pressure from his family to come back home. 

Ever since, he had been working for Ellison Enterprises International, finally taking over the top spot after his father's heart attack earlier that year, cementing his fate. Business, business associates, and a father, brother and fiance that sometimes seemed more like business associates than family were the sum total of his life. It had been so long since there had been more for him; he didn't even look for it anymore. And Carolyn had the means to bring even that crashing down around him. 

He reached over to buzz Sandra, then remembered that she had already left for the day. Sighing, he went out to her desk, flipping through her Rolodex until he found the number for the florist that the company used, ordering enough roses to be sent to Carolyn to hopefully appease her. 

With that task accomplished, he went down the hall to Stephen's office, knocking once on the doors before going in. 

"Oh, excuse me, I didn't know you were in a meeting." 

Stephen stood. "That's okay, I believe we're finished here. Mr. Pickett, I'm sorry, but I don't think we'll be doing business." 

Jim turned his attention to the other man in the room. Someone about his own age, dressed in upscale business attire, and, if one could go by the expression on the man's face, not very happy about how his meeting had turned out. 

"I'm sorry, too, Mr. Ellison. _Very_ sorry." Pickett ignored Stephen's outstretched hand, glared briefly at Jim, then left the office with brisk strides, leaving behind the scent of smoke mingled with expensive cologne. 

"What was that about?" 

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Evidently, I have the youthful vision to recognize a unique opportunity that my big brother doesn't have. But, unfortunately for Mr. Pickett there, I also have my big brother's keen insight to recognize a piss-poor deal. In the end, EEI would have gotten sucker punched." 

Jim just nodded in acknowledgment, he really didn't want to hear about it, and despite some of his brother's shenanigans when they'd been younger, Stephen had proven himself over the years. Jim trusted his brother's business judgment, and secretly gave Stephen's wife, Miranda, credit for getting Stephen to act like an adult. 

"Okay, about the Harkins deal..." 

"Jim, you worry too much. The deal is in the bag. Tobias Harkins was satisfied with the additional perks that you worked out with Dad, and my sources say that the Justice Department is no longer concerned about the anti-trust thing." 

"Okay, okay, I'll let it go. Let's just hope that nothing happens between now and Friday." 

"It won't. And in two days, Harkins will be even richer, and we'll have a unique hold on a lucrative market." 

"Good. Why don't you go on home? I get tired of Miranda giving me the evil eye every time she sees me, like I'm the one that keeps you here all hours of the night." 

Laughing, Stephen said, "Better you than me. But, I'm just about to head out. Don't forget that Saturday is little Will's birthday. For some reason, the kids love your grouchy ass, and he'd be upset if you didn't make the family birthday dinner." 

"Uh...fine, but I have to bring Carolyn. We have a dinner date, and I can't cancel on her again." 

"Okay by me, but you have to be the one to call Miranda and clear it with her." 

"You don't play fair, little brother." Jim knew that Miranda and Carolyn didn't get along very well. 

With another laugh, Stephen answered, "I know. I'm an Ellison, remember?" grabbing his briefcase as he headed out of his office. 

"Wait up," Jim said, "I'll walk out with you," abruptly deciding to call it a day himself. 

But, on his way home, he made a familiar detour, pulling his black Jaguar into a free parking space in front of Collette's, forgoing the elevator to walk up the stairs to the third floor, closing his eyes as he put his key into the lock of #307. He didn't go all the way inside the apartment, but leaned back against the door, ignoring the view of the cityscape outside, resolutely not looking up to the empty loft bedroom, just standing, breathing, remembering. Even after so long, he still felt compelled sometimes to simply be there, listening to the quiet echoes of past laughter and the ghostly whispers of love and passion long gone. 

Danny. 

Another chance that he'd hadn't taken--that of having someone good in his life. They both had been looking for something the night they met in a smoky bar, something more than the sex they were willing to settle for, and, incredibly for Jim, a night between the sheets had been the start of it. He'd bought the loft so that Danny could live there, so that he could meet him there. And for a while, it had seemed that he could actually have what he really wanted. Believing that had been his first mistake, he thought. The others had been not noticing Carolyn following him one night, and being too caught up in kisses to remember to lock the door behind him, and too fucking shocked to simply admit the truth when Carolyn had caught them half-naked on the couch. He'd never forgiven himself for denying everything right in front of Danny, claiming that it meant nothing, had been just a momentary sexual lapse, the first time that it had ever happened, and then watching his lover, angry and hurt, walk out the door without trying to stop him. 

Carolyn, who hadn't been convinced by his story, had offered him a deal. That if he couldn't keep it in his pants, then he had to act with the utmost discretion, or else suffer the consequences. He could have his little encounters, but should never again make the mistake of becoming attached to his boy toy. Feeling hollow and alone, he had agreed, knowing it had only been a fantasy, lying there with Danny at night, pretending the rest of his world didn't exist or didn't care. 

He had never seen Danny again, hadn't even had to work at keeping his word, because a week after leaving the loft, Danny had died, shot and killed on duty in his job as a cop, and Jim's fantasy had well and truly died along with him. Never again, he vowed, would he make the mistake of believing. But, he couldn't bring himself to sell the loft, and couldn't help the occasional visit, alone, in the dark, for fleeting bittersweet moments. 

Shuddering, he turned, making his escape from the memories, locking the door carefully behind him. 

* * *

Jim cursed himself for a fool for coming over again. He had spent over an hour talking to his father about business matters that didn't really need to be discussed, patently ignoring the puzzled looks being thrown his way. Now he was trying to look interested, rather than as unbalanced as he truly felt, while the animated conversation, mostly from Naomi and Blair, swirled around him, stealing as many covert glances at Blair as he felt he could get away with. 

Sandburg wasn't so much, he told himself, studying the other man, who was telling yet another story to a seemingly captivated audience. Sure he was cute enough with his bright eyes and curly hair and nicely rounded ass. 'But, I've fucked better looking guys,' Jim countered silently. There was no good reason to find himself constantly drawn to some fast talker with no apparent purpose in life. 

Not that there was anything really wrong with Sandburg, either. He was a lot like his mother, and Jim got along with her pretty well. Liked her a lot, actually, even with her somewhat flighty nature, and nomadic background, though he'd never let it show much. Naomi seemed to genuinely care for his father and not about the money, at least not for herself, though EEI had picked up some new charities. And, she had a way of treating Jim with some weird blend of flirtation and nurturing, as if she could easily see herself in another life as either his lover or his mother, and it warmed him...whenever he let it. Blair seemed to fluctuate oddly between confrontation and acquiescence, both ways giving off a sexual vibe that made Jim's dick hard. It kept Jim guessing, kept him coming back. 

"You really have to go there sometime, Mom," Blair was saying. 

"Sounds like a blast, Blair," Naomi replied. "I'll put it on my list. But right now, time for bed, I think. Ready to go up, William?" 

"Yes, actually, I am. Jimmy, in case you didn't know, I think you did a great job on the Harkins merger. So, we're in an excellent position. I wouldn't worry about those figures you showed me earlier. It'll work out fine." 

Jim stood, nodding to his father, saying 'goodnight' to Naomi and letting her kiss him on the cheek, watching Blair over her head, wondering what possible excuse he could come up with to stay a little while longer that didn't sound blatantly false. Telling himself he should damn well just go home. 

When William and Naomi were gone, Blair got up, searching the extensive literary collection that filled the shelves of the room, humming softly to himself, paying no attention to Jim, who took the opportunity to watch undetected. 

"Well, I'm going to take this and go chill out in my room," Blair said, holding up a thick book. 

"What is it that you do exactly?" Jim asked as Blair was about to leave, blurting out something to keep Blair there. 

Slowly, Blair turned back around, but he didn't speak right away. "This and that," he finally said, shrugging. "Travel mostly. After I got my Master's, I decided to see the world. I audit classes when I feel like it, but I guess what I do is...study people." 

"How do you manage to do all of that globe-trotting with no money?" 

"My mom helps me out sometimes, and I work when I have to, tutoring or anything else that pays well enough for short periods of time. I don't need much, and I can stay most anywhere under most any conditions." 

"So you're saying that you're basically a bum?" 

"Actually," Blair said with a smile that only made Jim nervous, "I guess I'm more of a hobo. But, so what? At least I'm happy. Are _you_ happy, _James_? Somehow, I don't think this life," spreading his arms, indicating the house and all it represented, "really does it for you, but yet you stay and stay and stay. One thing I can say is that I know when it's best to move on." 

Blair didn't wait for an answer, and Jim wasn't sure that he had one to give, anyway. He stood there for a minute longer, feeling envious and hateful, then swallowed it down and left to go home. 

* * *

Blair pored over the listings on the university bulletin board, taking note of all the likely prospects. He needed a place to stay. His initial meeting with Dr. Stoddard had gone better than he'd thought it would. In fact, Eli had been very excited that Blair had finally decided to do something with his Sentinel passion, dismissing the idea that without a modern example, it just wasn't worth doing. So, though he wouldn't be writing the exact paper that he had always envisioned, he had more than enough to get started on the comparative study that he had pitched to the university. All he needed now was to find somewhere to live so that he could move out of the Ellison house. He had been spending all of his time there, and he didn't need to get run over by a truck to figure out why. Besides enjoying the comfortable surroundings after so many months on the road, there was no denying the strange attraction he'd had to Jim Ellison since day one, or the number of nights he'd spent hanging around waiting to see if the other man would have business to discuss with William Ellison. Buff and gruff had never been his style, and yet there he was practically mooning over the guy. 

'A cheap place to crash, Sandburg, and then you better work on getting a date.' He hadn't asked anyone out since he'd been back in Cascade. Hadn't looked up any of the people that he knew would be excited to see him, and ready to express that excitement in bed. Hadn't gone to one party, one bar, or one social function of any kind to meet someone new. 

After collecting all of the best residential possibilities, Blair went over to a second bulletin board to see if there were any interesting events scheduled in the near future, hoping by the end of the day, all of his problems would be solved. 

* * *

Okay, maybe buff and gruff had a lot going for it, because damned if James Ellison didn't look fucking gorgeous in a tux. 

Blair dragged his attention from across the room back to his own tall, gorgeous date. Running into Christi had been a stroke of good luck. Not only was she beautiful, intelligent and happy to see him, but from the signals she was sending out, he was going to get even luckier later. He had been surprised to walk into the university fund-raiser and see Jim there, even though it stood to reason that the Ellisons would be supporters of the university. Even more surprising was his seeing Jim with his fiance for the first time. She was a lawyer named Carolyn--he knew that from Naomi--and they looked like the typical affluent couple. 

It felt strange to encounter Jim somewhere out in public, rather than the usual surroundings of William Ellison's home. When their gazes had met across the crowd earlier, Jim had nodded in recognition, and Blair had smiled, nodding back, but hadn't approached him. Despite their previous contact, they weren't exactly friends, definitely weren't business associates. So, Blair had mingled with the people he knew, talked to those he was introduced to, and flirted outrageously with his date, loving her smile, her sexy laugh, the way she would lean close and brush against him when she spoke, anticipating the night ahead. However, through it all, he still somehow felt Jim's presence in the room. 

"You feeling all right, Blair?" 

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm cool, shouldn't have had that glass of wine, I guess. I'm going to the men's room; I'll be right back. You about ready to go?" 

"Definitely, I've sucked up to enough rich folks tonight. Hurry back." 

"Will do," Blair said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before making his way to the bathroom. Originally, it had just been a convenient excuse to cover his distraction, but by the time he pushed through the door, he could feel the urgent need to relieve himself. 

He had always wondered about the concept of men, a lot of whom probably had issues when it came to other men and intimacy, lining up to whip out their dicks in public to pee, like it was a test of your manhood not to notice the manhood of others. Just his luck that Jim would walk in right in the middle, taking up a stance at a urinal three bowls away. 

"Sandburg," Jim said, unzipping his pants. 

"Hey," Blair responding, feeling self-conscious as he shook himself, then flushed. 

As he walked over to the sinks, he couldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek at Jim, a glimpse of a large hand around a long, soft cock, quickly averting his eyes before Jim could notice. While he washed his hands, he heard a flush, and then Jim was next to him, soaping up as well. 

"Having fun yet?" Blair asked, going over and snatching out some paper towels. 

"I could think of better ways to spend my time than pretending to socialize while listening to people try to talk me out of my money. I'm only here because my father had other plans with your mother. I like to write my checks at the office." Jim joined him, drying his hands, smiling wryly. 

"Well, nobody's after my money, good thing since I don't have any, so I can just hang out and indulge in the free food and wine," Blair said, smiling back. 

"That your girlfriend you're with?" 

"Christi? No, I went to school with her. She teaches here now. But, you're with your fiance, right? Naomi told me you were engaged." 

"Yeah, Carolyn. She's an attorney with the firm that the company retains." 

"Ah, convenient. Well, I hope the rest of the evening's more fun for you. Me, I think I'm going to leave now and go make my own fun." Grinning and bobbing his eyebrows once for effect. 

Two men walked in, making Blair suddenly aware that he had been making small talk in a public restroom, and he started towards the door with Jim behind him. 

"See you, Sandburg," Jim said, as they left the room. 

"Yeah, later, man." 

They headed in opposite directions, and Blair searched for Christi, finding her talking to a group from the Drama department. 

"Blair, you know these guys, don't you?" 

Blair nodded when they greeted him, and stood by letting Christi continue her conversation, trying not to look obvious as he glanced around, looking for Jim, but unable to spot him nearby. 

"Ready to go, Blair?" Christi asked, drawing his attention, "I thought we could go back to my place." 

"Sounds great to me. Let's go," Blair said, taking her by the elbow and leading her towards the exit. They were putting on their coats when someone tapped Blair on the shoulder. 

Turning around, he found Jim there holding out a card while Carolyn stood a few feet away. 

"Meet me at the address on the back at eight tomorrow night. I have something I think you'll be interested in." 

For a long moment, Blair stared, momentarily shocked into thinking that Jim had guessed his fantasies, and was actually offering... 

"Naomi mentioned that you're looking for a place to stay," Jim said, pushing the card a little closer so that Blair would take it. 

Without reading it, Blair replied, "Oh, um, sure, right, okay, eight o'clock." 

Jim walked to Carolyn and, with a hand on the small of her back, they melted back into the crowd. 

"Blair," Christi breathed in his ear, "come on. I have plans for you." 

Successfully distracted, Blair left the party, tucking Jim's card carefully away in his pants pocket. 

* * *

"Oh, man, this is great," Blair said, dropping his bag at the door, walking past Jim straight to the large glass doors that opened onto a balcony. "Look at this!" He pushed one door open, breathing deeply of the cool, sea-kissed night air before turning back, pulling the door shut again. Slowly, he toured the rest of the place: living area large enough for a couple of couches, and a dining table could go under the light that hung from the ceiling over near the entrance to the kitchen, which had a nice sized island, and in the corner was a bathroom where he could already see himself taking long, hot showers. He noticed Jim, arms folded, still standing just inside the door, watching his progress, and he grinned at him, taking the stairs up to the loft bedroom two at a time. "Looks good," he said, peering over the railing down at Jim. 

Jim walked to the stairs. "There's another room over here. You can use it for storage or a study or whatever." 

Blair came down the stairs, stopping one step from the bottom, looking into Jim's clear, blue eyes, so tempted to just lean forward and give the man a good, hard kiss. Stifling a sigh, he stepped down, looking away, glancing around the apartment once again, feeling the weight of so much that was just not within his reach. 

"Thanks for letting me check it out, but I think I wasted your time. There's no way I can afford rent on a place like this." 

"I own it. I wasn't going to charge you rent." 

Blair gaped at him. "No rent? To live here? I paid $850 a month to stay in a rat-infested warehouse, this place has gotta go for at least--" 

"A friend of mine used to stay here. He died. It's been empty ever since. You pay the utilities, it's yours until you get ready to leave town." 

"Did he die in here? Your friend?" 

Looking startled, Jim said, "No." 

Nodding, Blair said, "Okay, just checking. I have a thing about spirits and karma and stuff, so I like to know what I'm dealing with. And, for the record, I'm working on my doctorate at Rainier--if it goes well, I plan on being in Cascade for quite a while. I'd be crazy to pass up an offer like this, but are you sure?" 

Jim looked anything but sure, but he nodded in agreement. "Just take care of it...you can fix it up how you want, but don't do any permanent damage to the walls or anything. And, it's a quiet building, so don't play your music too loudly or have any wild parties. And you might not want to stay in the shower too long, especially in the morning, unless you like cold water. 

"You know I didn't have that many rules when I was growing up." 

"That's because you had Naomi for a mother." 

Blair glared at him, but Jim raised his hands. 

"I _like_ Naomi. I had William Ellison for a father. After that, everybody looks good." 

"Yeah? Your father seems cool to me." 

"He's...he's different now. After his heart attack, he...changed. Took a few trips to places that promote 'spiritual healing', met Naomi, and he's just...different. But, I lived thirty-some years with that other William Ellison, the one that played me and my brother against each other from the time we were kids, the one that pressured, manipulated, ruled us, our lives. The one that kept me here..." 

When Jim's voice just trailed away, Blair stepped closer. "Hey, I'm sorry, man. Childhood shit has a way of staying with you, no matter how hard you try to forget." 

"Yeah, look, if you want the place, it's available," Jim said, his voice a little scratchy as he turned away, moving across the room, out onto the balcony. 

"You okay?" 

"I'm fine, Sandburg, just getting some air." 

"Hey, thanks for considering me. This place is great. I appreciate it, really." 

"I'll have a contract drawn up with the terms, such as they are. It's open-ended, so you can leave at anytime." 

"Leave? Are you kidding? I might _never_ leave this place." 

"There's, um, there's some furniture in storage. I can have it sent over. Just a few things like a couch and chairs, a bed." 

"Jim, you don't have to do that." 

"It's all just collecting dust," Jim said, shrugging, going back inside. 

"Okay, thanks." 

"I've got some work to do. I'm going to go back to the office for a while." Jim reached into his pocket, pulled out a key ring. "Here are your keys." 

"Knew I'd take it, huh?" 

"A doctoral candidate should be smart enough to know a good deal when he sees one." 

"Hey, I know some grad students that couldn't tell a good thing if it came up and kissed their ass." Jim laughed, and surprised, Blair laughed along with him. "Come on, man, let's get some food and beer and hang out." 

"No, no, I better go take care of...business. I'll see you around." 

"Well, I'm going to leave, too. I'll start moving this weekend, if that's okay." 

"Sure." 

They left the apartment, Blair locking up with his new keys. On the street, Blair went to his motorcycle, which he'd parked 'creatively' in front of Jim's car. 

"Don't make a habit of leaving your bike like that, Sandburg," Jim said, pausing at his car. "By the way, I think your engine needs some work, it was sounding a little rough when you drove up. If you want, you can bring it by my place this weekend. I can take a look at it." 

"You?" 

"Sunday. Early. If you're interested." Jim pulled an organizer out of his pocket, wrote something in the back and then ripped out the page, giving it to Blair. "This is the address." 

Jim got in his car, driving away without a wave or even looking Blair's way. Astride his bike, Blair just stared until the sleek, black sedan was out of sight. When he started the motorcycle up, feeling the familiar vibration underneath him, all he heard was the roar of power, and wondered what it was that Jim could hear. 

* * *

Okay, Jim had surprised him before. Offering him a great apartment for nothing, that brief bit of personal revelation, his rich, full laugh...but this.... Blair was totally unprepared to arrive at Jim's spacious, modern home and find Jim waiting for him, standing at the side of the house, in front of an open four-car garage wearing old jeans, and a grease-stained white tee-shirt. His heart pounded, every male fantasy he'd had since his teens vanishing in the face of Jim Ellison...mechanic? 

"Hey," he said, taking off his helmet, feeling as if he'd run a mile. "Nice house." 

"Sandburg. You okay?" 

"Yeah, just..." He stopped, uncharacteristically having no ready answer. Instead, he got off his bike. "So, you really know your way around motorcycles?" 

"Cars, too," Jim said. "I let the professionals handle the complicated stuff, but I can keep things running smoothly." 

"I bet," Blair muttered under his breath, making his way inside the garage, eyes widening at the black Jaguar convertible and two Harleys sharing the space with Jim's everyday sedan. "Hey, why didn't you tell me that you ride?" 

"You didn't ask," Jim said, grunting a little as he moved Blair's motorcycle inside to a corner workspace. 

"You don't seem like the type that really appreciates questions." 

Jim mumbled a response, already engrossed in taking Blair's bike apart. Blair walked around, sliding his hands along cool, sleek metal, rubbing the soft leather of seats, watching Jim working. It could have been somebody completely different from the cool, crisp man he'd met the first day he'd been back in town. 

"Hand me that wrench, Sandburg." 

"Um...which one," Blair said, walking over. "This?" 

"Uh huh." 

"So, where you'd learn all this?" 

"High school. Auto shop. It was what I liked best besides football." 

"For me, it was music. That and books." 

"I liked books, too. But, well, my father didn't like me getting grease under my nails and he definitely didn't want me thinking I had a future on the field." 

"I always wanted to be in a band. I play a mean guitar. I think I probably gave that up because my mother thought it was too cool. She's always liked musicians. Being good with the books was something that was all mine, and it got me on my own at sixteen. Right here in good, old Cascade." 

"What?" Jim asked, pausing and looking up. 

"That's when I started at Rainier. But, even with school, I've managed to move around a lot. I guess I'm more like my mom than I thought." 

"I hear that," Jim whispered, turning his attention back to his work. 

For a long time afterward, they didn't talk, except for the occasional order from Jim to Blair to hand him a tool or some other task. By the end, Blair was squatting down next to Jim, his own hands smudged black, feeling totally at ease as they worked together. 

"You know, I can buy the bike from you," Jim said as they stood side by side at the sink in an adjacent wash room, scrubbing their hands with cleanser. "You could use the money to get a car. You don't want to have to rely on the bike once winter comes. And...I'd still let you ride her whenever you wanted." 

"Keep this up, and you're going to ruin your rep as a hard-ass." 

"It was just a suggestion," Jim said, stiffly turning away, grabbing a towel, and roughly drying his hands. 

"Oh, hey, wait, I was just kidding." Blair grabbed Jim's arm, feeling tense muscles under his fingertips. "I just meant...thanks. I'll think about it." 

"Well, we're all done here. You can take her out, test her, see how she sounds now." 

"Nah, I trust you. To be honest, I couldn't tell anything was wrong, anyway." 

"If you're going to have a motorcycle, you should take better care of it." 

"Well, now I have you to make sure I do." 

"I'm not your keeper, Sandburg." 

Offended, Blair retorted, "No, but I thought we were becoming friends. What, I'm just some kind of charity case?" 

"I didn't say that." 

"Whatever. Later, Ellison." Blair rolled his motorcycle outside, straddled it, put on his helmet, and when Jim didn't come after him, he roared away without looking back. 

* * *

Bad, dangerous, a big, big, mistake. That was Jim's only thought, repeated over and over, as he rode towards the loft on one of his motorcycles. It felt good, freeing, to be out at night, raw power growling beautifully between his legs, a long time since he'd ridden. Since Danny, actually. He maintained the bikes faithfully, but he hadn't wanted to take one out in so long. Another indication that Blair Sandburg was trouble--stirring up his life. Even he had been surprised when he'd offered Blair the loft. But, for some reason, it had seemed...right for Blair to be there, filling the air with new laughter, fresh scents...life. It wasn't Sandburg's fault that Jim could picture them making love there, upstairs and down, as wild and lively and free as it had been with Danny. 

Jim had vowed that he wouldn't go back, wouldn't tempt himself with the sight of Blair relaxed and at home in that place, but there he was. He hadn't seen Blair since that weekend spent fixing the motorcycle, had no reason to run into him, but he couldn't forget him. Lately, Carolyn had been on a mission, pressuring about the wedding until finally he had committed to a date, after which he had been hounded with requests for his opinion about places and guest lists and honeymoons. 

Like he gave a fuck. Like it was something he was looking forward to, as opposed to giving in to the inevitable. Finally, he had said just that very thing. Harsh words cold with his resentment and frustration. Still, he had always had enough self-control not to lose his temper before. The remnants of their argument reverberated angrily inside his head. After Carolyn had run off, face red with the strain of holding back tears, (but not ticked off enough to cancel the wedding, he was sure), he had stormed through his bedroom, pulling out rarely worn black jeans and tee-shirt, snagging his old leather jacket on his way to the garage, and had his Harley on the road almost without thinking about it. But, he had known where he was going, though his reasons weren't something he could explain out loud to Blair. Bad, dangerous reasons, sure to be another one of his mistakes. 

But, he stomped up the stairs to the third floor anyway. Stopping himself at the last minute from using his own key. 

"Oh, Jim, hey." 

Jim's breath caught. Amazed that this person could seem more beautiful every time he saw him. How blue eyes and wild hair added up to something that made his blood pulse in his chest, his pants. 

"Busy?" Grateful when his voice didn't crack at all. 

"Not really. Um, come on in. In fact I was going to call you." 

Blair turned around and Jim watched him walk away, form-fitting blue jeans, a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, buttons opened enough to show a glimpse of chest hair. 

"Call me?" 

"Yeah," Blair said, sighing a little, not facing him, "I owe you an apology. I acted stupid last time I saw you." 

"No, really it was me. I'm better used to business relationships." Without knowing it, Jim found himself standing close behind Blair, stepping back when Blair suddenly turned around, looking a little startled. 

Shaking his head, Blair said, "No, you've been great. I'm just... Well, anyway, if you still want to buy the bike, that would be cool. I've sort of made a deal for this great old Corvair, and they're holding the bike until I get back to them." 

"Corvair?" Jim asked, eyebrow arched. 

"A classic, man." 

Jim laughed after unsuccessfully trying to hold it in. "You like 'em old, huh, Sandburg?" 

"Hey, if it's still got life..." Blair said, stepping around Jim, going to the kitchen. "Beer?" 

"No, thanks," Jim said, studying Blair's ass as Blair peered into the refrigerator. 

"I've got--" 

Caught, Jim looked away. 

"I've got water," Blair said, walking back to Jim, holding out a bottle, his eyes narrowed to slits, gaze sharp as a laser. "Um, something you wanna tell me, Jim?" 

"What?" Jim took the bottle, just to have something acceptable to do with his hands, focusing on the cold moisture. 

"I saw that...you... I mean it's not every day that I catch a supposedly straight man checking me out." 

"You...I don't know what you're talking about." 

"I mean, true, I could easily see you as a candidate for a repressive personality, but I thought it would be because of the whole being made into your father's image thing." He moved closer, eyes blazing with what undisguised interest. "I didn't think--" 

"Back it up, Chief, there's nothing going on here." 

"Why not? So you like what you see...I can admit to liking what I see, too. Especially with you all in black like that." Gesturing with his head, his chest rising and falling visibly. 

"Even if any of that were true, I'm _engaged_ , Sandburg. End of story." 

"Excuse me for saying so, Jim, but I think your 'engagement' is more of a business deal than that merger you were just involved in at work. The classic case of a prominent, closeted gay man, marriage of convenience as a cover. You probably fly down to San Francisco twice a month just so you can get your rocks off." 

Jim's reply stuck in his throat, too stunned to speak. Nobody had ever thrown that true an image about himself in his face. All except the part about San Francisco, he had always limited himself to no more than once a month, though recently he hadn't been able to manage even that. Suddenly, he missed Danny so very much. With Danny things had been so simple--as a cop, he'd understood being in the closet, and he had accepted, though reluctantly, the reality of Carolyn and marriage...until Jim had stomped all over it.... 

"I have to go." 

"Jim, wait, I'm sorry. I was out of line, but, hey, you have to live life, give yourself a chance at happiness." 

It didn't matter whether Blair was right, Jim didn't see how he could change things and he didn't want to hear about Blair's view of love, life and happiness. They weren't alike; their worlds were completely different. Blair would never understand. 

"Some of us have responsibilities, Sandburg. I do live life. _Real_ life." 

"Well, your version of 'real life' _sucks_." 

"Well, your version is _unrealistic_!" 

Holding up his hands, Blair surrendered the argument. "Fine, man, forget I said anything. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll get ready to go out, live life my way a little." 

Okay, that was the end of that. It had been a close call, too close for comfort, and he had been right--bad, dangerous, a big mistake to come there, to let Blair in as much as he had, because, goddamn, it hurt to go. 

He flinched a little when he heard the lock click behind him, a quiet contrast to Carolyn's slammed door earlier, but the end result was the same, he was alone with his thoughts, his memories, his regrets and his mistakes. 

* * *

What the hell, what was the big deal about compounding his mistakes with one more? Not that he could help it at this point. No way he was turning around now. He had been lurking down on Prospect, feeling restless, pent up, not ready to go home, not sure where else to go, when Blair came out. Slinking back into the shadows, he had watched Blair get into an old car--the newly acquired Corvair--and take off. Instinctively, Jim had followed. Nerves tingling with the thrill of the chase, knowing that he couldn't follow too closely if he wanted to avoid being seen on his motorcycle. Trailing Blair through the city, he was paying scant attention to anything other than the taillights of the Corvair, which he kept about five cars ahead. At a red light, someone off to his side, standing on the sidewalk, called out to him, lewdly, boldly, appreciatively, and he focused on the neighborhood, a section of town he avoided, though he had been to other areas just like it in other cities. But, without hesitation, he followed Blair into a club that was packed and alive with men ready for anything at the start of a weekend. 

Overwhelmed by music and heat and the smell of sweat, Jim paused at the bar, looking around for Blair, not seeing him in the mass of bodies. He scanned the crowd over and over with no luck, closing his eyes at the beginnings of a headache. With his heart pounding in time to the music, he pictured Blair in his mind, listening past the rhythm at the buzz of voices, swearing he could hear him--a few words, a low chuckle. 

A sharp pain stabbed briefly behind his eyes, accompanied by a memory from his childhood. An argument with his father. He couldn't remember over what before it faded--the sense of something important dancing out of his reach. 

Concentrating again, he let the music fade, picked up voices, but it was interrupted by another flash that made his head hurt. His father's voice raised in anger, the word 'freak', and then Blair's voice, suddenly loud and clear, coming from behind him, 'Yeah, sure, love to'...and he was turning towards it, feeling...feeling...feeling something he couldn't name, propelling him around the room, until he was by Blair's side on the dance floor where Blair was moving in sync with a tall, spiky-haired blond. 

"Dance with me." He growled it, leaning over close to Blair's ear to be heard. 

"Jim? What are you doing here?" Blair stopped dancing, staring up at him. 

"He's with me," he said to Blair's dance partner, putting an arm possessively around Blair's waist. 

"You know this guy?" The blond frowned, first at Jim, then at Blair. 

"Yeah, but--" 

Cutting Blair off, the blond held up a hand. "I don't have time for this jealous boyfriend shit." 

"What the fuck is your problem?" Blair asked, stalking through the crowd. 

Jim caught up to him in a darkened hallway leading to the bathrooms, trapped him against the wall. "You don't know me." 

"Hey, Jim, I apologize for earlier. It's your life, it's none of my business." 

"I want you," Jim said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears. Leaning close, he brushed his lips against Blair's, his stomach going into a freefall. Blair whimpered and Jim licked, making Blair gasp, and then they were kissing in force, hungry and sweet. Fuck, so fucking sweet, the taste of Blair making him moan, his hands scrabbling where they were braced against the wall. So sweet he could willingly lose himself in that taste forever, was ready to follow it into infinity. 

But, all at once, the world came crashing back with the strength of a hurricane. He tore his mouth away; barely avoiding biting his own tongue as his jaw clenched shut against the onslaught of pain. The music seemed so loud, he thought his ears would burst, the smell of smoke and sweat and strong cologne slammed into his brain, making him gag and choke, while his clothes seemed suddenly hot and tight and rough. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Blindly, he started to move. He could hear Blair calling his name, but it sounded like a tape played from far away on too slow a speed, and it didn't stop him. When he bumped into somebody, his body felt like it burned where he was touched, but he kept on, wanting only to get out of there. 

"Jim, Jim, Jim." Blair's voice gentle, close, and he opened his eyes, focusing on Blair's face, blurry but somehow familiar, seemingly shining out of the darkness, and a touch on his arm, heat he could feel through his leather jacket, but a soothing warmth, not fire. Leading out, leading him away. 

Outside, cool air hit him, and he gasped, shaking as he filled his lungs, the past few minutes fading fast away leaving him drained and vaguely achy. Blair was looking up at him with a troubled gaze, eyes bright and scared in the light of the nearby streetlamp. 

"Are you okay?" 

Jim nodded, leaning back against the building while his heart calmed. 

"Are you really okay, or are you just saying that, because, I'll be honest, you scared the shit out of me." 

"I'm fine," Jim said, his voice only a little rough. 

"What the hell was that?" 

"I...I don't know...I'm not sure." 

"You don't have epilepsy or something, do you? Some sort of allergy?" Blair ran a tongue over his lips, thinking about lip balm and the drink he'd had. 

"No...not that I know of." 

"Well, was it a panic attack? You know, because you kissed me?" 

Jim looked at Blair, taking him in. "I don't think so." It had to do with his father somehow, he was sure, an incident from a long time ago. "I think I was just remembering something." 

"Remembering what?" 

"I...can't quite get it." 

"Oh, something you've repressed." Blair was nodding like it was totally normal, happened all the time, and it was starting to freak Jim out. "What was it about?" 

"Look, Sandburg, I don't know, okay. And I don't want to stand here answering questions." 

"Well, come on, let me take you home." 

"I got my bike. I'm okay." 

"Jim, there's no way that I'm letting you get on a motorcycle. Come on, I'll take you home. You can get your bike tomorrow." 

It seemed less trouble not to argue, so Jim just nodded again, walked quietly beside Blair, grateful to still feel steady on his feet. 

The drive to Jim's house was equally quiet, and Jim was grateful for that, too. When they were parked outside of Jim's garage, Blair finally spoke. 

"Can I ask you one more question?" 

"What is it, Sandburg?" Sounding as weary as he felt. 

"Do you regret it? Kissing me?" 

Jim stole a sideways glance, and Blair's face seemed to shine bright and clear by the light of moon. "No." 

Nodding, Blair got out of the car, came around to Jim's side, opened the door, waiting for Jim to get out. He walked him to the front door, stood patiently while Jim fumbled for his keys, and then unlocked it. 

"Can I...can we...do it again?" 

"Blair, I..." 

"I know, you have Carolyn, and your life is all planned out, and it doesn't include me complicating it. Okay, so, I'm not going to invite myself in and try to seduce you, but, um.... No, you're right. Goodnight, Jim. Look, I'll call you tomorrow, check on you, and we can arrange to get your bike." 

Jim grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him leaving, his hand cupped behind Blair's neck, pulling him closer, lowering his head. He took his time, savoring the kiss, deep and slow and still as sweet, bracing himself for some adverse reaction, but only felt the whisper of cool air, the heat of Blair's body alongside his, and the taste of Blair on his lips. He was hard, harder then he remembered being in forever, but he pulled away, breaking the kiss with a soft noise. 

For a few moments, he kept his eyes closed, Blair tucked close, but then he stepped back from even that, eyes wide open. "No seizure, no panic attack, no allergic reaction," he said, trying on an almost-smile. 

"If you want to talk, if you remember something else, call me. I mean it." 

"Goodnight, Chief." 

Jim went inside, his heart beating out of his chest, though it wasn't beating fast at all, just hard and steady. 

'Like something else,' he thought, looking out the window until Blair got into his car and drove away. Then, he stripped out of his clothes, so wound up that he left them on the floor, making a trail to the bathroom. Under a warm shower, he jerked off, conjuring up images, replaying memories, murmuring Blair's name, releasing at least enough tension that he thought he would be able to sleep. 

But he hadn't counted on the dreams. 

* * *

He struggled to wake, needing to escape the panic of his dream, but he tried not to forget it, holding on to remembered fragments of running through the woods as a child, then his body changing, the scenery changing as well, morphing into a large black cat as the foliage thickened, the temperature heating up until he was a man running through a jungle. Blinking rapidly in the darkness, he tried to make sense of it, but couldn't. In his dream, he had been afraid--as a child, of something in the woods with him, in the jungle, of something within himself. 

It took a few minutes of deep breathing for the fear to fade, but it lingered in his head, a nagging sensation, unshakable...threatening him with its inevitable return. Enough to make him reach for the phone, seeking a promised offer of support 

"H'lo?" 

Jim almost didn't say anything, in the face of obviously having woken Blair up. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah." 

"You okay?" 

"I..." He stopped, feeling stupid saying that he had a bad dream, like some scared kid. But then he remembered the scared kid that he had been. "I had a dream. It might have been a memory of something that happened to me a long time ago." 

"What?" 

"I'm not exactly sure." And he definitely wasn't sure about the part where he felt like a panther, wild and loose in the jungle or a grown man mostly naked with warpaint on his face. 

"Wanna tell me about it?" 

Jim didn't even want to think about it anymore. "No, why don't you just...talk to me." 

"Um, okay." But he stayed quiet; Jim could only hear soft breathing. 

"I didn't mean to wake you up..." 

"No, it's okay, I just dozed off in a chair with some books. I needed to get up and get in the bed, save my neck some pain tomorrow. Hey, by the way, tell me the truth, that furniture that you had put in here...it wasn't sitting in storage, was it? It's brand new." 

"The place was supposed to be furnished, but I sold the other stuff." 

"After..." 

"Yeah, after Danny died." 

"Well, thanks, but you didn't need to do that. I would have gotten something together." 

"I wanted to." 

"Hey, tell me about Danny." 

"Danny?" 

"He was more than a friend, right?" 

"Why do you need to know?" 

"I don't, I guess. But you might want the chance to tell me, tell somebody what he meant." 

And he did want to in a way, thought how nice it would be to acknowledge it, how wonderful it had been, though for too short a time. But, then he'd have to admit how badly he'd screwed it up. "He was more than a friend," he finally said. 

"But that's all you're going to say, huh?" 

"He's gone, Sandburg." His voice soft and miserable. "Talking about him won't bring him back. It only brings up how fucked up that is." 

"Okay, I'm sorry. I...I told you you weren't the type to appreciate questions." 

"Don't apologize. I'm starting to see that questions is what you do, and for the most part, it's okay." 

"Just have to learn my boundaries, I know, I know, story of my life." 

Somehow, Jim didn't think that was a lesson Blair ever learned. He'd already inched past every invisible line Jim had drawn between the two of them sine they'd met. That topic probably wasn't the safest. Easier to go back to why he'd called in the first place. 

"I dreamt about the woods where I used to play when I was a kid. We weren't supposed to go in there, but it was close to a field where we played ball, and we were typical boys. In my dream, something bad happened there." 

"And this is real? This dream is actually a memory?" 

"I don't know. Maybe. In the end, there's a part about a black panther and a jungle that I know is not real." 

"Wow. That could mean something, though. Animals can represent--" 

"Give it a rest, Chief. It's late. I'm going to let you get back to sleep. Try the bed this time." 

"Good idea," Blair chuckled, "and it's a great bed, too. Thanks again for all the furniture." 

"Where'd you get the rest of the stuff?" 

"What?" 

"The rugs, the masks on the walls, those carvings...all of those books." 

"Oh that. That's just everything I've accumulated over the years. I kept some storage space here and put away everything that I didn't want to sell or give away when I left last time. I guess I always knew that I'd come back someday." 

"Well, the place looks good." 

"You okay, now?" 

"Yeah." 

"And, um, do you feel like talking about...you know...earlier with us?" 

"Goodnight, Chief." 

"Okay, okay, 'night, Jim." 

Jim hung up, slid down in the bed, letting his muscles relax, his eyes close, not even realizing that it was the memory of Blair's voice that led him into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

It turned out that what he dreamed at night wasn't the problem; it was the nightmare he ended up living during the day that broke him. After his experience in the club, he woke up rested, almost rejuvenated, alive and strong and...ready, for what he didn't know. He dressed in a suit to go into the office thinking about how much work he'd get done on a Saturday without the weekday distractions. 

By the end of the day...he was in agony. 

His head ached, his skin felt raw, his eyes burned, his ears throbbed with pain. Lights were too bright, the sound of his pen across paper or the click of his computer's keys blasted him, his clothes--fine, expensive fabrics--scraped his skin like sandpaper, and his special coffee tasted like poison. The water he'd drank to help swallow four pain pills tasted even worse. But, all of that was better than the times it seemed he couldn't see at all, his vision flickering, blurring, blacking out for long, torturous moments, or the way his skin would suddenly go numb, or his not being able to clearly make out the sound of his own voice, and how the Thai noodles he'd had for lunch had gone down like tasteless mush. 

It scared the fuck out of him--the crazy fluctuating from sensitized to sensation-less. Still, he rode it out, fought it out, thinking it was stress, or guilt, or maybe just a simple nervous breakdown. Gripping the edge of his desk, he gave up on work, trying to think, just think, figure out what the hell could be happening to him. The club, Sandburg, the same thing had happened then, though not to such an extreme degree. Sandburg. His whole world had been tilted, changed, damn near turned inside out since Blair Sandburg had shown up on his doorstep with his...Jim didn't even know what Sandburg's game was. He had somehow just fast-talked his way into Jim's life. 

Half-crazed, Jim got up, left the building, barely acknowledging, Sanford, the weekend watchman as he staggered to the street. In the parking garage, he felt almost normal, the evening air cooled even more by the concrete walls, and it refreshed him. For about ten minutes, he leaned against his car relishing the way his body seemed to be finally settling down. Hoping to get where he was going before another strange attack, he crawled into his sedan, starting the engine, driving too fast inside the enclosed space, but unwilling to slow down. Three-quarters of the way to the loft, the oncoming headlights mesmerized him and he almost sideswiped a minivan. Cursing, shaking, he pulled over, gritting his teeth at the thunderous sound of horns blaring. Better to walk, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the outside world as best he could, narrowly focused on the only answer he had been able to come up with. He didn't bother knocking, letting himself into the apartment with his own set of keys, the door banging open and he stood in the doorway, feeling like a panting, hulking wreck. 

"Jim? What the hell's going on? What's wrong?" 

Blair was up off of the couch, books falling to the floor, practically running across the room to Jim, who promptly lifted Blair by the arms, slamming him against the nearest wall, his face twisted into a pain-filled grimace. 

"What the hell did you do to me, you neo-hippie witchdoctor punk?" The words were hissed, quiet with rage, slicing through the sound of the tribal music that Blair had playing. "Did you drug me? Do some sort of new-age hypnotic suggestion? What? What. Did. You. Do?" Knocking Blair against the wall one more good time. 

"Whoa, hey, Jim, calm down. I don't have a clue what you're talking about, but I'll try to help you, just let me go." 

As the words got through, Jim's face went blank, and his grip loosened. Blair slid to the ground, which seemed to shake under his feet, but he clutched Jim's arms, rubbing a little, eyes never leaving Jim's face. 

"Tell me what's wrong." 

"I...I..." Jim looked around, as if surprised to be there. "It has to be because of you." 

Blair closed the door, locking it, and led Jim to the couch. "What, Jim? More dreams?" 

"It's...everything. I must be going crazy." 

"Relax. Take deep breaths. In and hold it. Out and hold it. Come on, do it. In...out. In...out." Blair repeated it, doing it right along with Jim until Jim seemed much calmer. For once he didn't ask any questions, just sat with Jim, doing a little quick meditating to make sure he himself could stay focused. 

And when Jim started talking, it all came spilling out. By the time he was done, Blair was practically vibrating, hardly daring to believe. It was only his concern for Jim that kept him from doing a victory dance all around the room. 

"Jim, I didn't drug you...or hypnotize you. And, despite the amount of stress you have in your life, the pressure you put on yourself and the guilt you're probably harboring about some things, I don't think you're having a nervous breakdown." 

"Then what the fuck is wrong with me? None of this happened until you showed up." 

"Sit tight. I have something I want to show you and a story that you need to hear." 

Before Jim could protest, Blair was running up the stairs to the bedroom, and was back grinning goofily. 

"Okay, bear with me...and have an open mind. It might sound a little strange, but I can sort of back it all up. Now, listen..." 

Blair began a tale that sounded fantastical, all about warriors with superpowers and jungle tribes and survival. Talking on and on as he flipped through the pages of the big book that he'd brought downstairs. It made Jim's head hurt just trying to keep up with the flow of seemingly irrelevant information. 

"Sandburg," he grated out, cutting Blair off in mid-sentence. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" 

Blair looked at him, sighed, closing the book and setting it aside. "Okay, sorry. I know I get carried away when it comes to this, but you have to understand that I always wanted to do my thesis on a real live Sentinel, and, man, to be sitting here with you, it's like finding... the Holy Grail!" He took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. In modern times, it's not unusual to find people with one or two heightened senses, especially in certain occupations--wine tasters, or perfume developers, for instance. But, in more primitive times, there were men who had the genetic advantage of having all five senses enhanced. It made them invaluable in the survival of their tribe. Think about it, being able to see farther, hear the slightest sound clearly, smell food or an enemy when they were still great distances away. But, it didn't come without its problems and price. See, that's where you're at. By all indications you're suffering from some sort of sensory overload, probably from lack of control." When Jim still looked at him blankly, he added, "Your senses, Jim. All five of your senses are turbo-charged. You're like a throwback to those more primitive times, a real-live modern-day Sentinel." 

Jim glared, but he thought about it...and it did make some sort of bizarre sense. How everything had been affecting him. "But why now? And how do I get rid of it?" 

"I'm not sure why now, and, no, you can't get rid of it. Hold on." Blair got up, going to the little spare room, returning with five thick notebooks. "Look, I've done a lot of research, and you need somebody to guide you through this, and I'm the man that can do it." He pulled out a pen, flipped to a blank page. "Let me get down what you told me...you know, maybe your dreams have something to do with this. Oh shit, the panther...I'll have to look that up, see what that means in terms of an animal spirit or something. And the part about you being a kid...heightened senses are genetic, so you must have had them when you were younger. Do you remember anything like that?" 

Jim shook his head. He didn't think he could have forgotten anything like these crazy headaches and the strange phenomena he'd been experiencing recently. But...he could vaguely remember 'knowing' things. At least that's how he'd looked at it, because he couldn't possibly have _seen_ or _heard_ it all, right? Except maybe he had, but it had been painless, scary and sometimes cool, but definitely painless. Until his father...he remembered arguing, crying, hiding. "Maybe," he finally said to Blair, "but it went away." 

"No, you just pushed it away, locked it up. That dream, the woods, we'll need to explore that some more." The pen moved quickly over page after page. 

"If that's the case, then I can do it again. You can help me lock it up for good." 

The frantic scribbling stopped, and Blair looked at him. "Jim, I can't do that. Even if I could, I wouldn't. You'd just be setting yourself up for another episode like this, where everything would come bursting free all at once, blindsiding you. Next time, you could get hurt, or hurt somebody, being overwhelmed and out of control." He put the books aside, moving closer to Jim on the couch. "Or worse, you could zone out, go into a catatonic-like state, from being too focused on the stimuli to one sense, and then the only thing locked away would be you. I'll help you, I promise, but that help will come in the form of teaching you control." 

Jim sagged against the couch, feeling weary and defeated. Sandburg was excited and optimistic, but all Jim could see was a life of craziness ahead. 

"How do you feel now?" 

"Tired." 

"Okay, let me just try one thing. If things get too intense, just remember the breathing...in, out, slow, and deep." 

"Sure you're talking about my breathing, Chief?" 

"What?" Noting the tired smile, Blair blushed, getting the joke. "You couldn't even handle me, right now, Ellison. Now pay attention. Close your eyes." He elbowed Jim when Jim arched an eyebrow at him. " _Close_ 'em." When Jim complied, he went on, "Relax as much as you can, start with the breathing, listen to my voice." He turned one of Jim's hands palm up, and placed one of his on top. "And feel my hand on yours. You okay?" Jim nodded. "Good. Okay, now I'm going to try to give you a platform to work from, if one or more of your sense spikes out of control, or if you want to purposely change the level of your reception. In your mind, picture a dial..." 

For the next few hours, they worked on getting Jim used to the concept of manipulating his senses. It was rudimentary, but it was a good place to start. Jim felt better just having the idea of control in his hands. But, _he_ was really tired, while Blair seemed to be on overdrive. 

"Sandburg, enough. I need to get some sleep." 

Blair looked like he was about to protest, but when he opened his mouth, he yawned instead. "You're right, let's get some rest. You can take the bed, and I'll crash down here on the sofa. I'm sure your body could use the recovery time." 

"No." No way, no way. He wasn't sleeping there. Not upstairs in _that_ bedroom and not under the same roof Blair Sandburg. Not after everything that had happened. 

"Jim...I'm too tired to take you home, and you shouldn't drive yourself right now." 

Belatedly, Jim remembered that he didn't even have his car. He had abandoned it somewhere and walked the rest of the way to the loft. 

"If it's me you're worried about, I promise...I know you're off limits. You're just here for my assistance." 

Jim didn't want to argue about it, and made himself walk up the stairs, Blair close on his heels. At least the bed wasn't the same, but with the moonlight streaming in from above, he could almost feel Danny there with him. How the hell would he get any sleep at all? 

"It's okay, Jim. I'll be right downstairs. All you have to do is yell. And, remember what I taught you--breathing and the dials." 

Jim nodded, not looking Blair's way. He didn't want to have to explain that his out of whack senses weren't foremost on his mind. What was more frightening was the possibility about dreaming about Danny--dreams where Danny's handsome face was twisted with anger and disappointment. Kicking off his shoes, he sat on the bed. When Blair had gone back downstairs, he stripped down to his underwear, and sliding under the covers. Surprisingly, it wasn't hard to relax, closing his eyes, doing a little of the breathing that Blair had shown him, filling his head with the subtly unique scent of Sandburg on the pillow. Testing himself, he inched his hearing up, slowly trying to focus. The faint scritching of the pen, the soft whuff of gentle breathing, an almost inaudible tuneless humming, and as a steady backdrop, the thump-thump of a strong heartbeat. 

He slept the night through without dreaming at all. 

* * *

"Sandburg, wake up. _Sandburg_." 

Blair responded to the voice, reluctantly leaving behind the dream world where he had been making love to Jim in the jungle, all sex and heat and moisture. He opened his eyes and there stood the man of his dreams, looking a little worn around the edges, but sexy still in a less than pristine suit. At least Jim's eyes were clear and untroubled, his gaze raking up and down Blair's body. Masking a groan as a yawn, Blair turned over, hiding his hard-on in the softness of the sofa cushion beneath him. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up. Where's the fire?" 

"I can't stay here." 

"Jim, wait." Blair sprang up, careful to wrap a blanket around himself, holding it closed with one hand, while he vainly tried to push the hair out of his face with the other. "You can't just leave. You...we...I have stuff I need to tell you, show you." 

"Pack a bag. Enough for a week or so." 

"Pack a bag?" 

"I'm sure you were up half the night planning something out. You probably even dreamed about it. Well, I'm exactly looking forward to it, but I'm sure it's necessary. And we'll need some time and space to start figuring it all out. So, come on, I'll take care of it." 

Blair didn't have to be told twice. He raced into the shower, threw some clothes into a bag, gathered up his treasured Burton monograph, plus all of the other Sentinel-related data he had accumulated over the years, and met Jim at the door, smiling at his amused glance. 

"Okay, I'll admit it, I'm a little excited about this. But, you gotta understand, Jim--" 

"No, you have to understand," Jim said, sobering, "this is not just a thesis subject, this is my life. I'm _living_ this. You just remember that." 

They left, both men quiet and contemplative. Blair drove Jim back to where Jim had left his Jag, then followed the black car to Jim's house. Inside, Jim showered, changed, came back with a leather travel case. Turning from where he had been examining Jim's eclectic CD collection, Blair bit back his comment, hoping his reaction to Jim in jeans and flannel didn't show. Jim made a few phone calls: one to his office explaining that he was going to be away, but would check in periodically, one to Carolyn saying that he had to be away on business, and would call her when he got back, and a last to somebody named Mac asking if 'number seven' was available and would it be all right to get there that afternoon. 

Blair didn't try too hard not to eavesdrop, figuring that if Jim didn't want him to hear, then he would have made the calls in the privacy of his bedroom, but he did refrain from asking questions as they left, packing up the Corvair when Jim indicated that they take it. But questions galore swirled around in his head on the way to their destination. The one he finally asked surprised even him. 

"You were in love with him, weren't you?" 

They had been on the road for an hour, the music from an oldies station the only accompaniment to their breathing. Jim jerked his head around when Blair broke the silence, then slowly turned back to looking out of the window. 

"Yes," Jim finally whispered. 

"So, what, he died and you decided you might as well go for the quote-unquote normal life with a woman and have that be it?" 

Jim turned back to him; Blair could feel the intensity of Jim's stare. It made the back of his neck itch. "No, actually, I was engaged to Carolyn when I met him, still engaged when I fucked him for the first time, still engaged when I fell in love with him, still engaged when she caught us screwing on the couch at the loft. Not to mention when I told her he was just a one-night stand right in front of him, and didn't say a word when he walked out. Satisfied?" 

"Oh, fuck, Jim, I'm sorry. I--" 

"Don't be, just don't bring it up anymore. You don't have to approve of my life, but you don't have to comment on it, either." 

"But if she knows, and you're still--" Blair did a quick assessment, not liking any of the conclusions. "What's up with that?" 

"Real life, Sandburg, like I tried to tell you." 

"Real life should be about real love, too, Jim." 

"Turn left here," Jim said, not making any other comment. 

Blair looked at him, then away. The grim resolve on Jim's face almost broke his heart, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel so that he wouldn't reach out and touch him, run a hand over the bristle-soft hair, or trail a finger down that clenched jaw. It wouldn't do any good, any more than arguing about what Jim was doing with his life. All Blair could do was help him as best he could, and hopefully, that included helping him feel that he wasn't alone. 

* * *

It should have been like a dream come true, and in a lot of ways, it was. Being alone with Jim at a cabin in the mountains, being able to concentrate his full attention on Jim and Jim's heightened senses. And to have Jim's undivided attention on him. Able for the first time to try so many things that he had thought about for so many years. Progress was made by trial and error, but enough that Jim's headaches receded as control was attained. Blair's heart did a slow roll the first time that Jim smiled, really smiled, after realizing that he could indeed handle a sensory spike, or pull himself back from the edge of a zone. Outside, inside, Blair had Jim test each sense one by one, making notes, charting graphs, asking question after question, giving as many solutions as he could think up. Just a week, but it was a start, helped along by the fact that Jim didn't resist his efforts, going along with most everything with little fuss. 

But, there was one issue looming between them and unsuccessfully ignored. 

The perfect scenario for Blair would have been for them to spend their days testing Jim's senses, and their nights with testing of a more intimate nature. They shared looks, touches, some laughs, while the business of exploring Jim's abilities as a Sentinel eased the way for their friendship to grow. Even Blair agreed that every conversation didn't have to be about how far Jim could see or how much he could hear, and as they learned more, they found that they really did like each other. But they never, ever talked about the kisses they'd shared one night, didn't discuss Carolyn, and Blair definitely avoided the subject of Danny. 

It was on the second night that Blair truly realized how much trouble he was in. Bad enough that Jim was off limits, up close and personal, spending every waking moment with the man, but then, in the bathroom, remembering Jim at dinner, looking practically orgasmic as he enjoyed his meal with newly-honed senses, it suddenly occurred to Blair that he couldn't just jerk off in the shower, because for all intents and purposes, Jim could be able to hear him. Even worse, Jim might always be able to sense any time that Blair was in a state of arousal. He hadn't questioned Jim about it, but of course Jim would be able to detect the respiration and temperature changes of someone in close proximity. 

He did it anyway, bringing himself off quickly, wanting to let go, and deciding that the shower with its muffling spray was at least better than his bed with its incriminating creak. But, he was embarrassed when he came out, waving with fake nonchalance to Jim as he went by to his room. 

It would have been a little better if he'd thought it was only one-sided, but he noticed Jim's stares, heated glances that made him squirm, could almost read the thoughts running through Jim's head, though neither one made a move. Working together during the day, tiptoeing around each other by the time it came to go to bed each night. 

It was almost everything Blair had ever wanted, more than he thought he'd ever have, but still not quite enough. He wanted the days to go on forever, the nights to allow them to become even closer. When it was time to go home, he felt a profound disappointment. 

On the drive back, he wondered what Jim would have done if he had just crawled into bed with him one of the past week's nights. But, it hadn't been worth the risk. There was a certain level of satisfaction in having Jim as not just a test subject, but a new friend. 

"Don't think this is over," he said as he dropped Jim off. "We're just getting started. We have a lot of work to do, but you did really great these past days. I want to set up a schedule and you call me the _minute_ you start having any problems." 

"Don't worry, Chief. We'll work something out." Jim pulled his bag out of the trunk, and started to go up to his house. After a few steps, he turned. "Thanks, Sandburg," before turning back and heading inside. 

It was enough to make Blair smile all the way to Prospect Street. 

* * *

For what had to be the fiftieth time that morning, Jim swiveled his chair around and looked out his office window onto the city. Nothing was different, except that he could _see_ more, when he wanted to, but he _felt_ different. Restless, anxious, excited, maybe. Though, as usual, he had enough work to keep him busy long into the night; it wasn't enough to divert his mind from what he could do, what he _might_ be able to do. Working with Sandburg gave him the most peace--the constant testing soothing him more often than it irritated. Blair's voice, presence, brilliant mind had gotten to Jim, making it seem so easy sometimes to have five heightened senses, despite Blair's assertions that he was mostly making it up as he went along. Jim's infrequent grumbling usually started out of defense, trying desperately not to get too entwined with the other man, keep a tight rein on his feelings. 

He had been sure that he could compartmentalize his life--his business, his senses, Blair, Carolyn. It seemed to work well enough during his waking hours, but at night...his dreams were of being in the jungle with Blair by his side, the air heady with a sense of intimate partnership. And, in those dreams he could do as he pleased, feeling strong, powerful, free. 

More and more, he felt the need to get away from everything--or set out towards something--but he stayed. Dreading the approach of his wedding to Carolyn, often resenting the ease with which Blair was turning his life into a research project, but unable to break from either. 

He couldn't imagine what his life would be like, who the man who had heightened senses and was married to Carolyn Plummer would turn out be. If Blair would fit into the picture, if Blair would even want to after the tests were done and the paper was written. It made him feel unsettled--and he realized that the parts of him were already bleeding together, despite his attempts to make neat little boxes out of his existence. 

With determination, he refocused on his paperwork, and it was a full half-hour before he found himself once again surveying the view wondering what was out there for him. 

* * *

"Mom? What's wrong?" 

"Oh, nothing, sweetie," Naomi said, giving Blair a quick hug, before entering the apartment, "but, I do have some news." 

It couldn't be good, Blair thought, his mother was...'subdued' was the only word that came to mind. 

"I'm leaving, Blair, I just came to say goodbye." 

"Leaving?" 

"Yes, you know, the atmosphere here just doesn't seem right for me anymore. It's time for me to go. There's a ranch in Montana, a sort of retreat, I think I'll go there for a while." 

"Mom...what about William Ellison? What about the two of you? I know you've never settled down before, but you seemed so happy. _He_ seemed happy." 

"I know, honey, but well, I can feel my time here is over." 

"Wow, how did he take it?" 

"Now, see, that's something I wanted to talk to you about. I think it would be so much nicer if you would--" 

"No, no, no. Mom, no. I am not doing your dirty work. You are _not_ going to put that on me." 

"But, he really likes you..." 

"Tell him yourself. Be gentle, but honest, and turn on that famous charm, but _you_ have to do it." 

Sighing, Naomi, turned away, but then turned back. "Okay. You're right." 

"I mean it. Don't just leave him like that. It isn't right." 

"No, I won't. But, I'm still leaving, and I think it'll only hurt him to have to talk to me about it." 

"Are you sure about this? It could be time for you to...grow up a little." 

Naomi caressed his cheek, than drew him into a tight hug, squeezing hard for a moment as she kissed his face where she'd touched it. "I think you're doing enough growing up for the both of us. And one Sandburg with an Ellison is probably all there should be. You'll do it so much better than me." 

Jerking away, Blair ran his hands agitatedly through his hair. "What are you talking about? Me and Jim are _friends_ , you know that. He's getting married, remember? You were _invited_." 

"Oh, we both know that's not going to work out. You two...well, I could see it that first night you met. I suppose that means you'll be more or less staying here in Cascade, and that's good. You seem so happy here." She kissed him on the cheek again. "Well, wish me luck, sweetie, I'm going to go say goodbye to a wonderful and attractive man. Say goodbye to yours for me, too." 

"You are all wrong about that." 

As was her habit, she ignored his protests. "I'll be in touch. As soon as I get where I'm going, I'll call...or write." 

"Mom..." The chance of getting Naomi to actually sit down and listen to reason seemed very remote, so finally Blair just said, "I love you." 

"I love you, too, baby." With one last hug, she left. 

Blair moved out onto the balcony, looking over the city lights, thinking how yet again Naomi Sandburg had managed to throw him for a loop. He felt sorry for William Ellison, but there wasn't much he could do about that. And, as for Jim, well, despite what his mother thought she knew, there wasn't anything he could do about that, either. 

It was true, though, that he was staying. More than once he had thought he should run...pack up the Corvair and hit the road, take his Sentinel research and his errant heart and go somewhere new. But, this time the inclination to stay was indeed very strong, and he couldn't make himself take one step toward leaving. He didn't know how he would react once Jim walked down the aisle, but Cascade was home. His mother had been right about that, at least. 

As for the rest, like he'd said, she had it all wrong. 

* * *

Though Jim was already up, he was still annoyed when his doorbell rang first thing in the morning, thinking it was Carolyn, yet allowing himself to hope it might be Sandburg. He was shocked to find a tall, black man in a trench coat on his doorstep, and two uniformed officers standing back near a patrol car that was parked behind a navy blue sedan. 

"May I help you?" 

"Mr. Ellison? I'm Captain Banks, Cascade PD, may I come for a minute?" 

"Police? What's going on? What's wrong?" 

"May I come in?" Banks repeated. 

Reluctantly, Jim stepped back, motioning the police captain inside, but he didn't offer him a seat, but stood facing him in the foyer. "So, tell me what this is all about." 

"You might want to have a seat, Mr. Ellison." 

"Look, Captain, will you please just get to it. I don't have time for--" 

"It's about your father. William Ellison of 417 Lakeland Drive." 

"My father?" 

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but he was killed in his home sometime last night." 

Feeling weak in the knees, Jim stumbled over to a chair, sitting heavily. "What do you mean 'killed'?" 

Banks pulled out a notebook, flipping through some pages. "It looks as if he died from a blow to the head with a blunt instrument. The housekeeper...Sally Hong found the body. Evidently, she had spent the night at the home of her niece and discovered your father when she returned this morning. Detectives Rafe and Brown are currently on the scene, and will have some questions for you. I'm here by request of my superiors because of who your father was. I'm sorry for your loss." 

'Your loss'. He'd 'lost' his father. There was a brutal rush of pain at that thought, and he had to breathe deep, listening to Blair's voice in his head as he worked around his sudden awareness of cigar scent emanating from the other man. 

"Are you all right, Mr. Ellison? Would you like a glass of water?" 

Shaking his head, Jim replied, "No, no, I'm fine. Just... Who did it? Who killed him?" 

"We're working on that. Did your father have any enemies that you know of?" 

"He was a...powerful man, of course he had enemies." 

"Any that you think would have taken their feelings out in this way instead of with business dealings?" 

"I don't know...I don't think so. Corporate takeovers are cutthroat enough." 

"Well, think of some names for the detectives to look into. It might turn up something. How about you, Mr. Ellison? Did you and your father...get along?" 

Jerking up in surprise, Jim met the calm, assessing brown eyes. "We...we got along fine. He was my father." 

"No differences of opinion, no conflicts or anything?" 

"No...not really, no." 

Banks nodded, making a few notes. "And your brother, did he have the same great relationship with your father, as well?" 

"Yes!" Jim said, lurching to his feet. "Do I need to call my attorney? Is this an interrogation? Don't you have any real suspects or clues?" 

"Like I said, the detectives are working the scene now. You should make yourself available to them for a statement today. Do you want me to inform your brother?" 

"No, I'll do it. The detectives can reach me at my office--the Ellison Building downtown." 

Banks nodded again and turned to go. "Again, I'm sorry to have brought you bad news, Mr. Ellison, and I'll appreciate your cooperation. We'll need a statement from your brother as well. Just routine--to check everyone's whereabouts." 

Jim muttered a curse. "I need to see how Sally is doing." 

"Your father's house is off limits right now, and her niece came and picked her up after she was finished being questioned. We told her we would take care of notifying you." 

"What about Naomi?" 

Captain Banks stared for a brief second before replying. "Your father's houseguest? She wasn't on the premises. Ms. Hong mentioned a son--we're checking into that now." 

Jim nodded, wondering whether he should call Blair himself, but first he had to go see Stephen. Banks left, and Jim watched him get into the sedan and slowly drive away, the police car following behind. 

Staggering back to the chair, he sat down, head low and held in his hands. Unable to believe that his father was actually dead...that their last conversation had been one filled with anger and harsh words. All because of that dream. Though, parts had turned out to be real enough. He remembered vividly the moment that it had all crystallized in his consciousness. While doing work in the office a few nights ago, out of the blue the memories became very clear: being young and scared and witnessing a murder...something he couldn't get anyone to believe because it should have been impossible for him to have seen what he was positive he had seen. Losing the man he had loved like a father and being able to do nothing about it, while his real father had forced him to deny the truth of the situation, deny the truth about himself so that people wouldn't think he was some kind of freak. 

It had been a blow to realize that his father had known what was going on with his senses, and had been the cause of him repressing them all these years. He had left his office, confronting his father with a barrage of angry questions as the pain of his childhood filled his head. It hadn't gone well, and he gone home to wallow in the guilt of not having been able to stop a killer from going free and the renewed sorrow of losing someone he loved. 

At the time, it hadn't escaped him that he had lost two people close to him in violent ways. And now, his father had suffered the same fate. His throat burned, his eyes along with it, but there were no tears, just a horrible, horrible ache. He wanted to call Blair, hear the voice that always calmed him, but he had to go see Stephen and then get to the office. There would be a multitude of details to see about. By the time he left out, his head was already pounding. 

* * *

Blair pushed his way through the door as soon as Jim opened it. He was obviously agitated, though Jim had known that before Blair had rung the bell. For the past two days, he had kept his senses as close to normal as possible, afraid of what might happen if he lost control in his present stressed state. But, he had clearly picked up on sensory signals from Blair outside without even trying, the rapid heartbeat and edgy movements. 

"Jim, Jim, man, you have got to help me." 

"Sandburg, what's going on?" 

"I'm really sorry about your father, you know that, right? I...I tried to call, but it's been hard to get in touch with you." 

"Yeah, I know. I got your messages, but I've been so busy since...since everything happened. Dealing with EEI and with handling the personal details, too. I was going to stop by, but I wasn't up to an emotional scene with Naomi. I figured she was staying with you." 

Blair stopped his pacing, breathing heavily and looking wild. "That's just it, Jim. Naomi's not staying with me. She's been arrested." 

"What?" Jim asked, though he had a sudden sick feeling that he knew exactly why. 

"She didn't do it. You have to know that. She did _not_ kill your father. The evidence is only circumstantial. She really cared about William, really, and she would never hurt anyone...well, not physically." 

"Why the hell would they think she had anything to do with his death?" 

Blair took a deep breath before speaking. "They kind of had a fight." 

"A fight." 

"She was leaving him, Jim. The day that your father died, she told me that it just wasn't right for her here anymore, and she was on her way to some retreat in Montana. She wanted me to talk to him, but I made her go do it. According to her, it didn't go well, and he got upset, but he was alive when she left him. The police caught her at the airport. She was still there because she had missed her flight. They said they only wanted her to come in for questioning, but afterwards, they said they had sufficient evidence to hold her. Shit, Jim, it's crazy. But, it'll be okay--I think you can fix all of this." 

"She was going to leave him because what wasn't right for her anymore?" Jim asked, trying to catch up. 

"The...'atmosphere' or something." Jim gave him a look, and he went on. "Okay, Jim, she may seem a little wacky, but she is not a _killer_." 

"Okay, maybe she isn't," Jim conceded, not genuinely able to picture Naomi as a murderer, but unfortunately not too surprised to hear that she had been leaving Cascade, "but what can I do about it? I don't think the police are going to give my word any weight, not if they have what they view as actual evidence. Do you want me to recommend a lawyer? Oh, or help you pay for one?" 

"No, no, Naomi already has a friend on the way to defend her. But, you could do something even better. You could clear her before there even is a trial." 

"Sandburg, you're giving me a headache. Clue me in, here." 

"Jim, you're a...a...human crime lab. You have the power, man, to find something that the real cops may have overlooked, or not been able to pick up on at all." 

"You want _me_ to...investigate my father's murder?" 

"You don't want an innocent person to go to prison, do you? And the real killer to go free?" 

"I don't think I have enough of a handle on this thing to do any good. It would probably require a level of concentration that I still can't control." 

"That's why you have me, Jim. I'll be there with you. All the way." 

"And you think the police are going to just let me waltz onto a crime scene with their suspect's son in tow?" 

"Well, they'll probably be calling you any time now to let you know that they've got somebody in custody and are finished with the house. And if you stress how you need to get in there as soon as possible to get personal papers or something, I'm sure they'll expedite things." 

"I'm sorry about Naomi, Sandburg, I really am, but I don't--" 

The phone rang, cutting Jim off, and he went to answer it. 

"That was Captain Banks," he said after hanging up. "Seems they've arrested my father's lady friend and are confident that they can make their case stick. And, it's okay for me and my brother to enter the premises of the house if we need to take care of any personal business." 

"I knew it! Okay, Jim, are you with me? Gonna help me and my mom out, here?" 

Despite his earlier protestations, Jim had known he would never be able to deny Blair his request. Not just because of how he felt about Blair, but also because of the still newly painful memory of another killer that had gotten away when he had been too young and too scared to do anything about it. 

"Is this going to be part of your research, too?" 

"Hey, if you pull this off, I'll have a bestseller on my hands." 

Blair's grin was quick and infectious, but Jim clenched his jaw enough to limit his own grin to a mere twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

"Come on, Chief. Let's get this show on the road." 

"We can do this, Jim. Trust me." 

Jim thought that might very well be the most dangerous thing Blair Sandburg had said since they'd met, but he managed to follow Blair out without argument. 

* * *

"That's it. There's nothing." Jim paced around his father's home office space, frustrated. They had been over the whole house and checked around outside, but concentrating mainly in the room where William Ellison had died. "I don't know what I'm doing, what to look for." 

"Anything, Jim. Anything out of place or different. You just have to get past the obvious." 

Like the blood, Jim knew, the acrid scent, the dark stain on the rug, and also the miscellaneous detritus left behind by the police investigators. 

"Okay," Blair went on, "let's start over. We'll do this room one more time, and then you can call it quits. I appreciate you trying, no matter what. Now, deep breaths, calm down and clear your head. Then, make one last inspection." 

Jim did as instructed, breathing in...out...while listening to the sound of Blair's breathing, feeling the warmth of Blair's hand on the small of his back. And...something began to register. Barely noticeable, but distinctly there lingering in the air. The house had a signature scent that Jim had unconsciously imprinted over the years, especially in this space that was uniquely his father's, and there was definitely something different...but vaguely recognizable. 

"Do you smell that?" 

Sniffing, Blair asked, "Smell what?" 

"That...that scent. You don't smell that? Like smoke." 

"Fire? You smell a fire?" 

Distracted, Jim blinked his eyes, frozen for a moment in concentration. "No, no." Starting to pace the room again, he sniffed, stopping at various spots. "Tobacco smoke. And...patchouli. Eucalyptus, I think." He sniffed some more, the traces were weak, but thanks to Blair's tests, identifiable. "Thyme?" he questioned, puzzled by that one. "It's some sort of cologne." 

"Cologne?" 

"Yeah...and I think I recognize it. The combination of it, I mean. I could be wrong, but I think I know who was in this room." 

Blair dashed to Jim's side. "No shit? Oh, shit. That's...that's..." 

"Come on, Sandburg. We need to go see Stephen." 

"You think your _brother_ did it?" 

"Would you quit yapping and come on?" 

As Jim headed for the door, he could hear Blair's mouth actually snap shut, and he turned, softening his tone. "I'll explain it on the way." 

* * *

"So, you think it's this guy that Stephen had a meeting with?" 

"I think...I'm pretty sure that I can say he was there. But, I can't just go to the police and say that I _smelled_ the real killer, now can I?" 

"No, you're right. That probably wouldn't go over well." 

Jim pulled into the garage at the Ellison Building. "You can go up, but you have to wait in my office." 

"What? No way. Why?" 

"Your mother is in jail for killing our father. I don't know how he'll react to you." 

"But..." 

"Chief, no matter how unbelievable even I might find it that Naomi is guilty, if you hadn't come to me," he shrugged, "well, _we_ were raised to put our trust in the police." 

"And you think _my_ version of real life is unrealistic," Blair muttered under his breath, as Jim showed him into the office. 

Jim heard, but wisely chose to pretend he hadn't. 

* * *

"What's with all the questions, Jim?" 

"I don't mean to bother you, Stephen, but this could be very important." 

"Well, like I said, he told me his name was Benjamin Pickett, and he represented a group with whom Dad had done business in the past, and had some proposition for me. He said he chose to talk to me instead of going to you, because he felt I had the 'youthful vision' to recognize a unique opportunity. I listened to his pitch and looked over his proposal and decided to pass. I knew you would have ripped holes all in it, and, truthfully, I didn't see it as worth the company's time." 

"What kind of deal?" 

"Some development thing." 

"And the group that he represented?" 

"I don't remember...Coastal something. Some partnership, I think." 

"And Dad did business with them?" 

"I don't know. He may have, but that's how this Pickett got through Tracy. He told her that Dad had requested I make some time for him. I never did ask Dad about that." 

"And you don't remember anything else?" 

"No, not really." 

"Okay, thanks, Stephen." 

"Wait," Stephen called out, as Jim was about to leave. "You know he wasn't happy when I didn't seem to go for his deal, and right before you walked in, he said, 'Like father, like son.'" 

"Like father, like son?" 

"Yeah, it struck me as odd, but then you came in and I got rid of him and I didn't think about it anymore." 

"So, there may be some connection with Dad." 

Stephen shrugged. "Now, tell me what this is all about." 

"I have to explain it to you later," Jim said, going off to fill in Sandburg. 

* * *

"Well, that's not much," Blair said, swiveling around in Jim's leather desk chair. 

"I'm sorry, Sandburg, I...I did what I could." 

"It's not over yet, Jim. You did your Sentinel bit and you hit on something. Now, we just gotta find this guy." 

"How do you propose we do that, Sherlock?" 

Grinning, Blair said, "Uh...you might not want to know about this, Jim. I have a friend and he...well, lets just say he's a genius when it comes to computers. I figure we start with driver and vehicle licensing records--" 

"You're right, I don't want to know," Jim said, holding up his hands. 

"You can help with this part, though. What's the easiest way to access EEI records going back a ways? See if something comes up with either Pickett or this Coastal Partnership Stephen mentioned?" 

"We can start with the company database. Get out of my chair and I'll take a look." 

"Okay, let me call my friend first...uh, phone calls aren't taped here for any reason are they?" 

"Look, why don't we just move this operation to my house. We'll use the phone and computer there." 

"After you, Watson!" 

Jim shook his head, hiding his grin with a glare as they left the office. 

* * *

"Turn right up here, Jim." 

"Sandburg, I know where I'm going. I _live_ in this city, remember?" 

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I'm just...this could be it." 

The search of EEI records hadn't turned up anything, but Blair's friend had passed on some information. He hadn't found a 'Benjamin Pickett' that matched the right age or description, but in widening the parameters had come up with a 'Benjamin Pike' that seemed to fit the bill. Out of desperation, Blair had convinced Jim they should check it out. 

"Calm down. We're just here for a little talk. I'll do the thing with my senses and try to determine if he's lying, and then we go to the police. You just come up with a reasonable explanation of why _they_ should have a talk with him." 

"Don't worry, I can be very 'creative' when I need to be. Hey, park right here." 

Jim refrained from any comments about Blair's creativity, afraid it would just get him into trouble, and parked the car. "Wait here." 

"You know, Ellison, you have got to stop treating me like some little kid-- Hey, look, there's someone coming out of the house." 

"That's him," Jim said, getting out, aware that Blair hadn't listened to him and was getting out as well. "Excuse me," he called out, "can I talk--" 

The man looked over, and took off running. 

"Shit!" Jim pulled out his cellphone and thrust it at Blair. "Call the police!" And went off in pursuit of the fleeing man. 

Stunned, Blair watched them turn a corner and then heard a gunshot. Punching 9-1-1, he ran after the two men. Breathlessly, he gave information to the operator who assured him help was on the way. When he finally caught up to them, he found Jim holding Benjamin Pike face down on the ground and there was a gun lying a few feet away. 

"Are you all right?" he panted. 

"Yeah." 

"The cops are on the way. Man, how'd you get him down?" 

"He tripped and dropped his gun. The rest was just an old football move." 

"Well, you still got it," Blair said, as the wail of sirens got louder, and moved closer to Jim when Pike started struggling at the sound. "Give it up, man. You are so busted." 

Jim held on until the cops came, guns drawn and yelling orders. It wasn't until Pike was taken away in handcuffs that his heart started pounding and he had to bend over in order to breathe. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Ellison?" 

He looked up to see a uniformed officer next to him. "Yes?" 

"Captain Banks would like you to come in so he can take your statement personally." 

Jim nodded, hoping that Sandburg had had time to be creative enough to make it look good. 

* * *

Jim exited the police station, glad to be leaving, glad it all seemed to finally be over, and found Blair waiting for him on the street. 

"Hey, Jim. How'd it go?" 

"I think Captain Banks is convinced I'm some kind of nut case, and that for some reason I was willfully holding back crucial information, but he can't prove either. Not to mention that he's ticked off about how it makes his department look to have arrested an innocent woman." 

"But, you're not in any trouble, right?" 

"No, but I think he'd be happy never to have to see me again. And since Pike confessed, it's case closed. You know, I remember something about what he said. His father and my father. I used to sit on the steps at night...listening to my parents argue. I was sitting there when Joe Pike came over and accused my father of cheating him. It wasn't unusual for him to come over, he had been friends with my father for years. I had forgotten all about Benny. We went to grade school together, but they moved away soon after our fathers fought. He told the cops that his father committed suicide a few years later." 

"So, you think it's true? That your father cheated his?" 

"I don't know. Back then, my father was... But, I do know that whatever Benny Pike thought he was going to accomplish isn't worth spending his life in prison." 

"I hear that." 

"So, what's the word on Naomi?" 

"I have to go pick her up. By the time I get there, they should be through processing her release." 

"She okay?" 

"She's Naomi," Blair said with a grin. "She seems to always come through whatever life throws at her. I, on the other hand, was scared there for a while. Thank you so much, Jim." 

"I was just along for the ride, Sandburg," Jim said, trying not to feel embarrassed. 

"No way, man. That guy shot at you. I don't know what I would have done if--" 

"Forget it, Chief. It's over. Go get your mother." 

"All right. I'll talk to you later." He held out his hand and their handshake turned into a brief embrace. 

When they parted ways, Jim walked to his car, warmed by the fact of doing something for Blair. He could have done without the foot chase _and_ the gunfire, but it had been worth it. His father's true murderer caught. For a minute, he extended his senses, taking in more of the scents and sounds of the city around him, reveling for a short while in the power of his abilities. James Ellison--superman of Cascade. Coming back down to earth, he got behind the wheel of his car, but his spirit was high all the way home. 

* * *

Jim lazed in bed, a rarity, but one he was inclined to indulge this morning. He was tired, but strangely elated, too. Still feeling a little high about his part in helping Naomi, even if he couldn't confess the full truth of it to anyone. Sandburg knew, and that was enough. Maybe his father was even somewhere looking down on him, finally proud that his son had a gift, thinking that it made him special, and not a freak. A thought that had him smiling a little when the phone rang. 

"Hello?" 

"Hello, Jim. I hope I didn't wake you." 

"No, I was just getting up. Is everything okay?" 

"Yes, yes, of course. I think I'm finally getting my sense of spiritual balance restored. And, I just wanted to thank you." 

"You already have, Naomi, and it's really not necessary." 

"Oh, I don't mean for whatever part you played in my release, I mean for making my son so happy. And I want to apologize for how things ended with me and your father. I cared a lot for William, I really did, and I feel awful...I feel partly responsible for his death. I opened the door for so much negativity and well...in walked Death. I hope you won't hold my behavior against Blair." 

"None of it was your fault. I'm just sorry it didn't work out with you and Dad. You made him happy, I could tell. As for Blair and I, don't worry, I consider him a friend." 

"Yes, I know, but...well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you what a special connection you two have. But, I do want you to know that you have my blessing." 

"Naomi, I think you've gotten the wrong impression." 

"Don't be shy, Jim. It's all right, really. Well, look, I've got to run. I'm sure you'll be hearing from me now and again." 

"Um, okay." 

"Great. Goodbye, Jim. My love to both you and Blair." 

She hung, ending the call, and Jim could only marvel at how different it must have been growing up with Naomi Sandburg for a mother. 

* * *

It wasn't that Jim was actually nervous as he walked down the hallway to Blair's apartment. He just felt a little off-kilter. Odd to think of the loft as Blair's place, and no longer Danny's, and he didn't want to consider why he was showing up there when a phone call would have sufficed. Especially, when he couldn't help remembering how many times he had walked thought that door to find a man waiting just for him, eyes sparkling with happiness, body hard with desire. Giving himself a mental shake, Jim knocked. 

"Oh, hey, Jim." 

And damned if Blair's eyes didn't light up a bright, bright blue. A shiver went through Jim at having that look turned full force on him. 

"I've been meaning to call you," Blair was saying, "but, my mom decided she just had to spend some quality time with me before she left." Blair snorted at that, shaking his head as he let Jim inside. 

"It's okay. I just stopped by to give you some news. I...um...I left the company." He paused, carefully gauging Blair's reaction. " _And_ Carolyn. And I'm going to go away for a little while." 

"Whoa, oh man, well, that's...that's good, right?" Blair ran a hand through his hair, but otherwise remained almost unnaturally still. "I mean you didn't want...you weren't happy with the way things were. So...what do you do now?" 

"I'm not sure. That's why I need to take some time away. Clear my head and think everything over." 

Blair started nodding, head bobbing like he couldn't stop, and Jim found himself involuntarily shaking his own from side to side as if that would somehow counteract it. It took some effort to stop. 

"Stephen's taking over the business, and once he was sure I wasn't just overreacting to my father's death, he was totally happy about it." 

"And Carolyn?" 

Shrugging, Jim answered, "She'll get over it, soon enough, I'm sure. She can play the wronged party for all the sympathy she wants. As for the rest of it...I told her to take her best shot. I just don't care anymore." 

"Oh, man, wow...that's...I'm surprised, but in a good way." Blair paced a small circle, then stopped in front of Jim. "So, um, what about--" 

"I'm not going to leave you in the lurch on the Sentinel thing, Sandburg. I know you still have research to do, and I'm not exactly a pro yet at controlling it all. Maybe you could think about everything you want to know and set up a detailed plan for getting and testing the information. That way it doesn't turn into you just following me around waiting to see what'll happen like an explorer tracking something in the wild." 

"But.... Yeah, okay, I can do that. Put something together. And so, what--" 

"We'll talk when I get back, hash everything out then." Jim was already reaching for the door, turning away from the unhappiness on Blair's face. 

"Okay, but if you start having any problems, or if you just want to bounce ideas off someone, give me a call. I mean it." 

At the door, Blair was crowding Jim's personal space, and the heat rippled through Jim in pleasant waves, making him swallow hard, his hands clenching into fists. He half-expected Blair to grab him, kiss him, grope him, _something_ , but Blair only ran a distracted hand through his hair and stepped back again. 

"Take care of yourself, Jim." 

"You too," Jim said, leaving quickly before he could be pushed in a direction he wasn't sure he was ready for at all. 

* * *

Jim had been waiting for it, mildly dreading it, but mostly anticipating it with a weird thrill. He toyed with the idea of acting surprised, or sitting still and playing it cool, but he ended up opening the door before Blair was even out of the car. 

"How'd you find me, Sandburg?" 

Blair walked up with a tentative smile. "Took a wild guess, thinking that you probably hadn't broken all of your old habits, yet. Wasn't sure I had the right place, though," he added, nodding towards the SUV next to his car. 

"That seems better suited to me these days than the Jag. What are you doing here?" 

"Look, Jim, I know we said we'd talk when you got back, but--" he moved past Jim inside, "I thought--" 

"You can just forget that, Chief." 

Frowning, Blair asked, "What?" 

"The idea that just because I no longer have Carolyn or have my life all planned out that you can just push your way in here and try to seduce me." 

Blair's shoulders sagged. "Come on, man, that's not what this is about. You don't really think that, do you? 'Cause you'd be so wrong." 

With his arms crossed, face impassive, Jim said, "Sandburg, let's be real, here. Once you finish your little paper on me, you'd probably only stick around long enough for a goodbye fuck. You'll be ready to hit the road. Isn't that what you do? Just like...." 

"Okay, Jim, at one time you might have been right," Blair said in a sad, shaky voice, "but you're not right, now. For one thing, my paper is _not_ on you." 

Jim arched an eyebrow, unbelieving, but Blair forged ahead. 

"I never said it was--I said that I always _wanted_ to write about a living Sentinel, but I had already gotten a subject approved and I have plenty research to work with. Plus, I had always pictured studying a member of some remote tribe somewhere, not a man living in an urban jungle...who is also my friend. I'm too close to you to see you as only a subject, and it might have been difficult to believably mask your identity so that you could continue to have a normal life. Can you imagine the attention a man with five heightened senses right here in the United States could generate? I consider my research with you a personal project. But I care about you and that has nothing to do with Sentinels or with me getting laid, either. You gotta trust me on the that." 

Blair stopped, practically winded after his little speech, waiting. But, Jim said nothing. 

"You know, you've discovered that you don't have to follow in your father's footsteps, why can't I see that Naomi's way of life isn't for me? Just call me when you're ready--to do more with your senses, I mean." At the door, he said a soft, "Bye, Jim," and was gone. 

Jim let Blair go, rooted to the spot where he stood, body trembling with the effort not to follow. Listening, waiting for the sound of Blair driving away. Listening and waiting for a sound that did not come. Wondering, he moved to the window and saw Blair sitting in his car, head down. He tried to take in a deep breath, but it caught, causing a stuttering, hitching noise, and he felt his gut clench, chest constricted with contained emotion. 

As he watched, he decided that no matter how confused he was about his life, he had let one man walk away without owning up to his feelings, and he didn't need another tragedy to occur to learn that sometimes you didn't get second chances when you discover too late that you made a mistake. 

That realization got him out the door. 

He tapped on Blair's window until Blair looked up and rolled down the glass. Blair hadn't been crying, but it looked to Jim as if he wanted to. 

Before Jim could say anything, Blair spoke up. "I love you, Jim, and I don't want to leave." 

"Stay." 

"Stay?" 

"Stay." Jim tried to let his emotions show on his face, because he was choking on all of the words, phrases and demands jumbling around in his head. 

Blair smiled, closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, they were clear with a glint of challenge. "I have clothes in the back." 

Jim nodded. "Get 'em". Stepping back so that Blair could get out of the car. 

When Blair had retrieved his bag, he followed Jim back inside the cabin, then walked past to set his duffel down near the big, plaid couch that took up most of the front room. 

"Jim, I..." 

"Can we talk later, Chief?" Jim asked, but quickly decided that maybe he owed Blair a little more. "Look, I...it's been a while since I've imagined my life being any different than what it has been, and I don't know what I'm going to do about that or about you. I still need time...to daydream a little, visualize what direction I want to go. But, I didn't want you to go away thinking that I don't care about you or want to be with you." 

"Aw, Jim, okay, I understand that. I guess I just wanted you to include me in your thinking. "Me*, not the anthropologist that's helping you with your senses. I get it now, and I apologize for charging up here. You must feel so...overwhelmed, suddenly free of so much, but so many decisions to make, and here I come forcing myself on you. I think maybe I should go, after all." 

"Sandburg, shut up. If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have asked you to stay." 

Blair's smile was instant and brilliant. "Okay, cool. How about if I just sit over here," he said, plopping down on the couch, "and be quiet for a while?" 

Jim smiled, an expression that felt good to wear, and went to the kitchen to fix something to eat. 

"Jim?" 

"What, Sandburg?" Jim yelled back, trying to decide between two kinds of soup. 

"Uh, while I'm being all quiet, I don't have to keep my hands to myself, too, do I?" 

Poking his head around the corner with a can of Hearty Beef in his hand, Jim said, "I thought this wasn't about getting laid?" 

"Not _just_ about getting laid," Blair clarified. 

Jim ducked back into the kitchen, feeling hot and bothered in a remarkably pleasant way. "To be honest, I'd settle for you being quiet. The rest is up to you." 

It wasn't like Blair could actually sneak up on him, but Jim still jerked a little, sucking in a breath when he felt the first touch. His eyes closed and his whole body seemed to thrum as fingers eased up under his shirt. Then, there was the tickling lick of a tongue up his spine, and his eyes opened to a realm of possibilities concerning his senses and Blair... 

In fact, suddenly he could _easily_ think up a few interesting tests of his own. He turned, thinking 'let the games begin.' 

* * *

"I thought you were going to be 'quiet', Sandburg," Jim asked, rolling over in the extremely rumpled bed, trying to grab the sheet without moving too much. Failing in his first attempt, he lay back, sniffing appreciatively of the musky scent of sex in the air. 

"Mmmph," Blair mumbled, the response vibrating pleasantly in Jim's armpit. 

"Not that I'm complaining or anything..." 

Blair pinched the inside of Jim's thigh, making Jim hiss, but Jim's dick thought it was kind of interesting and tried to half-heartedly raise its head. Finally snagging the sheet with two fingers, Jim pulled it up over the two of them, chuckling softly when Blair started snoring. 

He couldn't have dreamed anything more perfect than actually making love to Blair. Okay, there had been the part where he had tripped on the way to the bedroom when he'd tried to walk with his pants around his ankles, and the part where he had elbowed Blair in the stomach trying to reach the lube, and the part where he had shot all over Blair's face the second that Blair's tongue had licked the head of dick because he had his tactile sensitivity up a _little_ too high. Not to mention that once he'd gotten hard again, he had fumbled through three rubbers, worse than any horny first-time teen, feeling nervous, excited and too, too ready. 

But, there had also been the kisses throughout, the frequent laughter, the incredible heat when he was finally inside Blair, the seductive sound of Blair groaning, "Jim, Jim, Jim," loudly and deeply, the heady sensation of making Blair come hard, spraying and sputtering, and then spasming himself where he was gripped by the tight, clenching passageway of Blair's ass. Whispering "I love you" in Blair's ear afterwards and finding it so very easy to say, and having Blair murmur back "love you, too" as if was no big deal that Jim's world had spun 180 degrees, just something completely natural. 

It had been more perfect than any dream, and Jim began to believe in happiness again. 

* * *

"Jim, maybe you should be a cop." 

They were eating soup and sandwiches, and Blair was talking with his mouth full. 

"Don't talk with food in your mouth," Jim said, but doing the same thing. Then, he swallowed. "A cop?" 

"Yeah, just think what you could do. You're like...organic surveillance equipment. And, look how you got my mom off. You should be helping people." 

"I thought you didn't trust the police?" 

"I trust you," Blair said simply. 

"I don't know, Sandburg." Jim had stopped eating, mulling over Blair's suggestion. "I think I'm too old to run around playing cops and robbers. Plus, I'm not sure that I want to get into another field full of stifling pressures and rigid structures." 

Blair seemed to consider it, then shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "So, what then?" 

Jim rolled his eyes at Blair's mouthful. "I don't know. That's why I'm here, remember? To start figuring it all out." 

"Well, I think maybe we should go on a field trip--get in touch with your inner warrior spirit. Remember your dreams? The jungle? I spent time with a tribe in Peru that might be a good place to start, and there's a temple located in--" 

" _Chief_ , can you give me more than one day to think about all of this?" 

Blair pushed his plate away. "You're right, Jim. I can't help it. I'm just so excited for you. I should probably go back and give you some space." He stood up. "It's not like I don't have work I should be doing." 

"I don't want you to leave," Jim said, standing up, too. 

"No?" 

"No." Jim walked around to Blair's side of the table. "But, maybe we should work on that 'being quiet' thing some more." 

Jim smiled, feeling primal and predatory as Blair flushed with sudden heat. 

"Yeah?" Blair's voice was low, husky. 

"Yeah," Jim answered, matching the tone. 

As they kissed, Jim held on to one certainty: Whatever he came up with over the next weeks, he could no longer imagine his life without Blair Sandburg in it. 

And he felt that was a perfect place to start. 

**THE END**

* * *

End A Life Imagined by J.C.: jazzedup@prodigy.net

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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